A Blog of Joy & (Dis)quiet

in times like these

2012-02-12T00:08:00.000-06:00

Writing is always helpful in times like these. It's the actual posting of what I'm writing that I worry over. And a post like this in particular.

Silas's sister unexpectedly died last week. Her funeral was this morning. I've not been to many funerals in my day, thankfully, but I've gotta say, it was the most beautiful and inspiring one I've ever attended. I was fortunate enough to have met her a couple of months ago, so when I sat in the church and listened to all the kind, funny, and wonderful things her family and friends said about her, I had a very real sense of how true they were. She seemed like a very cool lady, and that is saying the very least.

I sat in the back row with my mother, and from across the field of heads and shoulders between us, I could see Silas with his non-mournful, life-revering pink sweater up front. I kept my eyes on him much of the time, willing him to turn around so he'd know I was there. I wanted to be up there beside him, holding his hand. As he went up to speak about his sister, I wanted to whisper in his ear that he would do great and that I loved him. But instead I just listened to the stories. I closed my eyes and listened to the songs and prayers, and stifled my tears, lips quivering.

At the cemetery - the kind I hope to be laid to rest in some day; lots of trees and little ponds - I stood with Silas and his friends as the casket was lowered in to the ground, and as we got to pet the little dove before Silas released it, and the others as they followed to the sky. It was lovely. The whole thing. Silas and his brother did a great job of making the funeral a celebration of her life, and of keeping the focus on the quality of it, the way she unabashedly lived it, not the untimeliness of how it ended. They did a great job of honoring her and I'm so glad I got to be there.

For days now, I've been in a funk, feeling disconnected, out of place, lonely - wanting to cry, but not. I squelched them at the church, I squelched them at the cemetery - so as soon as I got home and had the chance, I took Grams's car up to the park so I could let the tears out. I couldn't keep them anymore. I sat in the car and screamed and cried and had many words with the Creator. And as I left there I did feel better. But still, tonight, I walk around the house feeling like I could start crying again at the slightest provocation. The tears are right beneath the surface, I can feel them. It feels like anything, at any moment, could nick me in the most innocuous of ways, and I'll be bawling again.

It's a little embarrassing to admit how self-centered I am. Instead of focusing on Silas and his loss, I'm focusing on my loss of Silas. I'm thinking of how he doesn't seem to need or want me around anymore. I'm thinking that I should have been there with him today, beside him every step of the way, not like some random mourner sitting in the back row. I'm thinking that I lost him and it's all my fault. I'm thinking how terribly I've let him down. And then after thinking all of that, I think what a selfish bitch I am for thinking these things at all. How dare I be sad at a time like this! My loss was self-imposed, after all. His wasn't.

So what do you do? What do you do in times like these? These are questions I asked God in the parking lot today. I promised that I'd listen. And these are the answers that I've begun to hear this evening:

You keep crying until you don't need to anymore. You sit down and write. You listen to your favorite music and you sing, or close your eyes and sleep. You count your many, many blessings. You take one breath at a time, one moment at a time. You remember that you always make it from here to there - you always have, you always will. You love from afar, if need be, and know that Love is not capable of being diminished. You act with selfishness or fear until it takes its leave of you - and you forgive yourself and let yourself off the hook when you realize that it has. You remember that there is not one right way of doing things, and that you're always doing the best you can - even when you're "not." You remember that you are loved and never alone, even if it sometimes feels that way. And yes, until you don't need to anymore - and that time will come - you cry.

all that's left is love

2012-01-16T14:12:00.000-06:00

The morning brought with it changes today - inner shifts, realizations. With a lone conversation, with words I wrote, with inevitability, it hit me that Silas and I broke up.

We've only been in each others' lives for just under a year; it isn't as if we were some long married couple. We hadn't even shared a Valentine's Day. But what a soul can do for another in such little time! Nothing's tidy or without its flaws, but I think our time was as close to pure as it could be. As close as two humans could have it be so.

Our friendship isn't over - but the course we thought we were traveling, is. And I think that's what my tears were about. The visions of what could have been. As much as I try to live in the present, I can't keep those dreams from appearing - and some of those dreams were sweet. These are what the tears let go of.

Such a gorgeous mirror he is! Such a teacher in he I've had, and have!

Byron Katie was once asked about her thoughts and emotions, and whether or not she cries sometimes. And she said she cries quite often - but only experiences her tears as Love, as gratitude. No longer fooled in to believing her stories about what she's experiencing, without any judgments, nothing but Love is left. And I get that now. I refuse to judge neither he nor I for what we did or didn't do; I couldn't, because I just don't see it that way. There's nothing either of us should have - or could have - done differently. So, when those stories and visions arise in the mind, as I'm sure they will for awhile, I'll just say "Thank you."

Just Silas-tears come to say "hello."
Just Love doing what It does.

questions (for what they're worth)

2012-01-15T18:19:00.000-06:00

All I say are stories - none of which are true. I communicate with language, a tool of the mind: a fictitious and fleeting construct. A powerful thing - but not so much, compared to the Awareness in which it appears. So, just know that, as I say what I say. All that I can tell you comes through my filter, and is only worth what you say it is. But in the hopes that it sparks or stills you, just in case it resonates, I say it; I ask the questions.

I hear that there's a Divinity you're looking for, and are afraid that you've not found it. You've read so many books and have heard countless teachings. You have made your advances. You've taken steps toward, and have humbly welcomed different religions in to your heart and mind. You've opened yourself up, you've prayed for illumination. But in spite of all your searching, you're still feeling lost. And after all this time.

I don't make light of your feeling lost. And I'm not trying to change or make your mind - or save you, not really - as if I had that power! No, you experience what you perceive, and what you perceive is nothing to be argued with. But there's nothing wrong with questioning things. Is there?

Who or what is the God that you're looking for? The Alpha and Omega? The creator of the Universe? God, as ultimate God, ruler of All There Is - wouldn't it seem that that definition of a God would have to be infinite - in-finite, as in, limitless - and wouldn't that include you? How could there be something that the Limitless is not? I don't think there could be, by definition. And is the God you're looking for all-loving, all-knowing - the kind of God you'd want to look for and worship? By that definition, do you imagine that He or She or It would purposely hide from you, demanding certain ways of being, with all sorts of expectation? Sounds terribly human.What could an all-encompassing God need or expect from it's limitless Self? Which you can't help but be a part of, using that definition. What do you fear? Do you imagine yourself to be alone? Do you imagine there is some state of being you need to attain, some place you need to get? Why would that God have you anywhere other than where you need to be? The God that you're hoping to find, fearful that you haven't - do you imagine that He or She or It doesn't know exactly where you are? Don't you imagine that He or She or It knows exactly what He or She or It is doing? Wouldn't you imagine that you're a part of It's limitless Self, completely known and loved for being exactly as you (It) are supposed to be?

I can't ease your worry. I can only ask you what I've been invited to ask myself. I can only suggest that you look at the love (ease of being) you feel in those moments of Now in which you have the presence of mind to simply rest in Awareness, without the stories you're prone to telling - including the one where you're in need of finding God. I understand the desire for answers, for wanting to make sense of things, and the fear that you never will. Those desires appear - but also do they go.

I'm just suggesting that God, the ruler of All That Is - Existence itself, in other words - just doesn't need from you a single thing, and certainly wouldn't want you to be afraid you've failed for not providing it, or for somehow acting wrongly. All that Life (which includes you) could ever need, is provided to Life, by Life, in any given moment. It's a grace that we're a part of. How could the Limitless exist any other way?

upon further reflection

2012-01-13T15:20:00.000-06:00

I typically don't turn to my writing in times of distress, because focusing on the problem only begets more problem. This is not a space I come to complain, or to speak of life's misfortunes, for the simple fact that I believe in the power of our thoughts and words. I believe that what we focus on, increases. And the more often I'm able to remember that, the better off I'll be.

Since I published my last post, though, there's been a feeling nagging at me, suggesting that maybe I didn't live up to that ideal yesterday, that maybe I was a little too whiny or negative. I don't think those thoughts accurately represent me, and it's just not what I want to put out there. Because all of my so-called troubles are only stories. Stories that disappear when Grace would have me investigate them. While it's true that certain stories appear from time to time, and it's true that I get swept up in them, there are other truths just as compelling, and probably much more accurate, that are far worthier of airtime.

So I'm balancing out what I left here yesterday, from a calmer mind, and with more stories equally as true, if not more so:

The fact is, I am doing AWESOME. As a friend pointed out to me, I am in uncharted territory and there is no map for me to follow. I have been doing the best I can, the best I know how, and I am right on schedule. My success is staggering. The idea that I've made no progress is ludicrous. I had a great first semester back to school. I finished a social skills training class. I've reconnected with all my friends this year, made new ones, went out and had fun. I rendezvoused with Life - and that's all I wanted to do. It has been a successful year. And that's all there will be in the future. It won't ever look just the way I hope or imagine it to, and that's cool. That It is there at all, that I am there at all, is what matters. The Rendezvous is what matters. The openness to All of It is what matters. Not the way it looks or the time it takes to unfold.

I'm going to stumble from time to time - and after each (ultimately) insignificant fall, I will stand myself right up again. I will never have the answers, and that's okay. All I need, is to be cool with that. And Life has shown me time and again that I have that capacity.

shaken, stirred, and settling

2012-01-12T11:24:00.000-06:00

Two weeks in to the new year, and I've given no real thought to resolutions. Usually, I'm excited by this symbolic time of change, struck giddy by thoughts of all the potential paths my potential selves might possibly embark upon. I eat that stuff up. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's wandering through daydreams. The harnessing of them, that's another story - but one that doesn't serve me in the telling of it...so I'll refrain.

Instead of looking towards the future, though, I've been looking back at the past - the freshly complete holiday season, specifically - and am grateful the flurry of all that social activity is over. Don't misunderstand: I had a blast. Every invitation I accepted, every connection that I made, every night of fun with friends will long be treasured. But in order to have those experiences, those nights, I had to endure the hours and days beforehand that were tainted with nervousness and dread. I felt the fear. I did it anyway. But each time was like the first time. Some times were easier than others...but none of them were easy-easy.

I attended Nick and Cody's wedding reception, of course. I got to hang out with Emre several times; got to see his house for the first time, and meet his girlfriend. I spent an evening with Emily by the light of the Christmas tree, talking and laughing. The house was full of family on Christmas day.

The most difficult times, however - and therefore the most rewarding, I might add - were the ones I spent with Silas. The lunch where I met his brother and sister for the first time. The limo ride with several other couples to look at Christmas lights throughout the city. The New Year's Eve party awash with strangers. Don't these all sound like lovely things to do? Don't these all sound like wonderful ways of spending time with a lover? They were. And by the end of each outing, I'm the one wishing we could stay. I'm the one that has found some drinks, nice people to chat with, and am loving the vibe. But beforehand, and for some time after arriving, it's uncomfortable to say the least. The very least.

I'm thankful to Silas for the loving presence he is, for the way he coaxes me out from behind the mental walls I've hid behind. I'm thankful to him for all the new friends he's brought in to my life - for not one person he's introduced me to have I not been charmed by. I'm thankful to him for his patience - and occasional annoyance - as I try to weasel my way out of commitments or a new found world. I love the way he sees Life and goes to grab it at every opportunity - and how he invites me along for the ride. I'm thankful for him. I love him. His Energy.

But as thankful as I am for all he's given, I don't always feel safe. Or accepted. Or like I'm where I need to be...or with whom I'm supposed to be. Or if I'm even making progress at all. As much fun as I always end up having, each time is like the very first time, and I'm getting tired of it. I'm tired of the conflict it gives rise to, both inside and out. When will the "faking it" turn in to "making it?" When will the guard be let down? When will I know what Silas knows? When will the pieces start to fit? When comes that rumored coming-together?

We've broken up, but fortunately, we're staying friends. I'll keep taking my steps. He'll keep taking his. And we'll see what happens.

I need to find out how realistic my expectations are - of myself, of Silas, of life. I've called the woman who led my social skills group. I need to get back in to counseling. Soon.

party not over

2011-12-08T13:42:00.000-06:00

To celebrate Nick and Cody's Vegas wedding back in October, there was a reception at an Addison pub last Saturday night - and it was awesome!

I could speak of the nervousness I had leading up to it. I could speak of the screwdrivers I had before even leaving home. But I won't. I'll speak on what matters, which would be the blast I had.

There was so much I loved about it, but one of the best parts of the night was getting to know Nick and Oliver better. Since it was my first time hanging out with Oliver, catching a ride with he and Simone turned out to be perfect. I got the chance to talk to him and get a better sense of who he is. Not only who he is, but who they are as a couple - and I gotta say, there was a blessed ease. I liked him, and our threesome's dynamic, immediately. Feeling cool with both of them made going up those stairs to the loft where the party was that much easier.

Several people from our past were there. Some of them I was closer to than others, but all of them were fun to see; catching up was nice. Drinking to the toast her friend gave, meeting her groom, and seeing her around all of her friends, was nicer.

The evening was spent up and down the stairs, in the bar and out. Up in the loft: drinking, chatting, laughing. Downstairs, out front: smoking, chatting, laughing. It was cold out and rainy, but there were a few covered spots - one with a swing, on which Simone and I frequently sat - and swung. On one of these trips outside, I had a little one-on-one face time with Nick, which I was glad about. His candor and joyous boisterousness were a combo, charming and disarming; not that I wasn't already diggin' him on Cody's behalf, but I was completely won over.

When the party ended and we hugged our goodbyes, Oliver and Simone and I climbed in to a cab, but after some mishap over a house key, we returned to the pub, our party unexpectedly not over. It allowed Oliver more time to throw darts and have some more drinks, Simone some more time to sober up, and me to - well, laugh or marvel at whatever goings-on caught my attention. Mostly, though, I just watched their husband and wife dart game. They were so cute! The way they kissed every now and again; how Simone danced before her darts. I was so happy to be there with them.

Cody is my oldest friend; I've known her since we were 12-years-old. It blows my effin' mind we've known each other for 18 years. One, because that makes us as old as we are, and that I've been alive long enough to know someone for 18 years! Two, because that's a long time for a friendship to last - and not everyone is so lucky. Cody and Simone were more acquaintances than friends in high school, and on one of our trips to the smoke-swing, Simone mentioned to me that she hadn't realized back then how genuine and good-hearted Cody really is. Being one of the "cool" kids - which Cody was - I guess it gave her a mystique that others took to be who she was. We both agreed that what makes her so cool - because she still is a cool kid - is that she's real underneath the ideas people would have about her. Appearance is nothing she cares about.

It was the kind of night that I've been having more and more of lately - and I know there are more to come. It was the kind of night where I let myself connect with people that I love and who love me. It was the kind of night that I used to imagine, though nowhere near as well, in those years I confined myself to my room. It was the kind of night that, even via the memories that linger, makes you smile and laugh so hard, your jaw hurts.

unexpected light to come

2011-11-17T16:47:00.000-06:00

There will come a moment when someone long-loved reveals a truth. There will come a moment of rethinking your bond and long, common history. The moment will reveal that you're not as all-knowing as you've imagined. And that Something Said, will cause you to see things, including that long-loved someone, in a different, more piercing light. That Something Said is bound to bring both your bond and beloved a depth you haven't yet seen, shadowed heretofore. It is certain to alter the story from which you've lived your life - a jaw-dropping surprise. And it is coming. Wait and listen for what's not presently known. Wait to receive what you've not yet been given.

And more! A night! An embrace!
Long enough to know they mean it.

The moment will come -
and is worth every breath -
from now 'til then.

words about words & the writing & reading of them

2011-11-09T13:26:00.000-06:00

My English composition class began this week, and so far, I'm loving the hell out of it. I love the questions I'm being asked to ponder and discuss. Some thoughts on writing (mine, in particular):

What it all boils down to, is the notion that the writing process is a personal ritual. Duane Alan Hahn said, "I write to teach myself what I already know." The rationale of this quote is something I can personally attest to. How this blog serves me, is that it allows me to reflect on the life experiences I go through, viewed from a "spiritual" perspective - because finding meaning in everyday life is something I naturally do, born a "spiritual seeker." So as I'm writing my posts, I'm writing what I already know about life and the Universe, as I've come to see it through books, videos, and experience. And as I test and ponder my philosophies against what I've actually lived, I'm making sense of them, explaining them, and celebrating all of it as my own personal truth.

From "The Artist's Way," by Julia Cameron, I took away in words what I intuitively sensed as true beforehand: that writing what comes naturally from our hearts and minds is actually a process of channeling our "Higher Self," or God, or whatever one chooses to call It. And that's why I appreciate Mr. Wally Lamb's quote so much: "Write the story for yourself, investigate what your truths are, and then have faith in it, and let the audience that's meant to find it, find it."

Knowing that the ideas flowing through a person are being given to them by some higher source, makes the process incredibly special. And so writing dishonestly or with some other motivation in mind, such as publishing, won't be nearly as joyful or success-bringing as relying on, and focusing on, what comes naturally channeled through you. My little blog is not brilliant. It's not "cool" or "socially relevant" - but it's apropos of me. It stirs and enlivens me - and if I'm lucky, someone will come across it and get something from it. But that would be secondary. Writing what's true for you is the goal, I think. And as the God of your understanding brings to you those words, that same Intelligence will bring to that material those who will benefit from reading it. It's all about writing what's true for you and letting the fruits of that process take care of themselves. Our only responsibility, as writers, is to remain faithful to our Truth - and to write, period.

big gay halloween

2011-10-31T16:19:00.000-05:00

Historically, getting up close and personal with my queer brethren on their turf - the Oak Lawn/Cedar Springs area of Dallas, aka the "Gayborhood" - sounded not only unappealing to me, but truly a nightmare. But after going with Silas and a group of friends I've found in my orbit, inherited by him, to the annual Halloween Block Party and parade this past Saturday night, I've decided to rethink my position. Honestly, I have only ever been friends with straight people, and have tended to avoid the gay population - gay men, anyhow - with the unfair, preconceived notion that they're a group of catty, vapid, superficial bitches, whom because I fail to measure up to their physical and cultural ideals, would most surely hang and crucify me on some cutely, flaming, jewel-adorned cross. Uh, who's the judgmental bitch here? Anyway, that's how I've tended to look at gay men, and I admit it's only because of my fear of their judgment and lack of attempting to really see them. So imagine my surprise when I found myself in an apartment full of gays, drinking and talking and laughing - simply observing people being people. Friendly ones at that.

From the apartment, right down the street, a group of us walked to Cedar Springs, all in costume - save for me and a friend of ours, to costumed-Silas's chagrin. (I've been informed that next year I WILL be dressing up. Haha! We'll see!) I was in love with the night from my very first step. Thousands of people (I've read that it's anywhere from 15- to 20,000) attend each year, and this couldn't possibly have been an exception. As we walked up the block, loud music was playing, and costumed people of all ages, races, and orientations were flooding the street, 360° - but instead of tensing up, I surrendered, and let myself get swallowed by the freak-and-goblin-laden, rainbow-rippled sea. People were shuffling along the street, dancing, talking, singing, moving in all different directions. Body to body, seldom was there empty space around anyone for more than a few passing seconds. I inhaled the gorgeous aroma of sweat, cologne, cigarette smoke, and Life. I closed my eyes and listened to the noise, letting myself get pushed along. I rode the waves.

Much of the night was spent at JR's, going up and down the stairs, stopping at the bar, wandering from place to place. I loved having an excuse for whatever reason to dive back in - because anywhere you had to go, there was no passing freely. And I'd taken to the waters. I loved when I ran out of screwdriver and was called to get another. I loved when my bladder insisted that I pee again, and each time, the finding of women in the men's bathroom with us. I loved being at the urinal while many present, spontaneously burst in to a "WOOOO!!!" - myself included - for no discernible reason, other than that we were alive. I loved the way men would brush up against me - and everyone - eyes catching gazes, costumes getting love, the picture-taking and the smiles. I loved how I found myself heading upstairs again to smoke on the packed balcony, where I could see down to the crowd below. I loved when I would follow along Silas, holding either his hand or crocodile tail to keep from getting lost - and equally as well, the getting lost. I loved the floating alone, although I never was. I loved the cool air. I loved, most of all, the not-afraid-ness.

I'm sorry, my gay brothers for keeping you at bay, for thinking that I knew you, for assuming you're all the same, for casting you as hateful stereotypes, and as humans, not giving you more credit. I'm sorry I haven't come to walk, talk, or party with you sooner.

cake (with or without the icing)

2011-10-27T16:40:00.000-05:00

After meeting with my vocational counselor and the instructor of the social skills class I've been taking these past six weeks, we all agreed that I'd gotten what I came for and that this morning's meeting would be my last.

I'm not entirely clear what's next in the process, but I'll be meeting with my counselor one day soon to go over that, to find out what I have next to look forward to. Before the class started, I emailed her, in search of reassurance that this wouldn't just be a big, uncomfortable waste of time. I needed the incentive of finding a job, of a paycheck, of my potential independence, saying, "At this point, confidence and improved self-esteem just aren't gonna cut it. I'd rather swallow broken glass." (Dramatic? Who...me?) :-) But now that it's over - now that I've potentially made some new friends, now that I've proven again I'm capable of doing something that at first glance I thought I couldn't, now that I've connected with genuinely nice people who'll make me smile when remembered, now that I find myself one experience closer to Ease - finding work will simply be icing on the cake. If all I got from this brief chapter are these good feelings I have, then I'm cool with that. Work will find a way.

Over the years, I've become notorious for starting things - classes, jobs, etc. - and then quitting come the slightest fear or discomfort. Now I have actual evidence, no matter how meager, that suggests maybe, just maybe, that isn't who I am anymore. It's a victory, and a rewrite, I'll gladly take.

another sista gettin' hitched

2011-10-14T18:21:00.000-05:00

I have only the vaguest idea of who this guy is; I've yet to meet him. And I have yet to see a photograph that cements him as a conceptual "someone" in my mind. But in Las Vegas (was she kidding about the Elvis theme?), this coming Sunday, he'll be marrying my dear, crazy Cody.

When we attended Simone's wedding this past spring, she told me about him. I'll call him Nick. I got a scanty portrait. I can't much remember the details. I do remember the feeling I got from her as she spoke about him, though. Cody herself, as I know her now, is such a grown-up, more together, more beautiful, and seemingly softer (in a way I can't quite put my finger on) version of her teen-aged self - the one who's hung out in my mind all these years. And from the talk we had, I get the impression that Nick fits snugly in to the world that she's made. I love that for her.

I'm a combination of disappointed and relieved that they're getting married in Vegas. Disappointed, because I had such an awesome time seeing Simone get married, and I'd love to be with Cody in the same way. I would have gone to her wedding had it been nearby, no question. But I do feel relieved that I have more time to gather the emotional wherewithal I seem to think I need in order to be around old friends again. It doesn't make sense, really. I'm doing so well in other ways. But it is what it is. Luckily, they're taping it, and I'll be able to watch it later.

They sent a "Save the Date" message for a reception they're holding in early December. Considering that Cody accompanied me to Simone's wedding, I thought there was a sweet symmetry in Simone accompanying me to Cody's reception. So we've both "saved the date."

I know it's going to be fun - and honestly, an honor. Most likely, I'll be the same ecstatic, joy-filled, teary-eyed fool that I was after Simone's wedding - but I'm not feeling it just yet. Please Lord, help me find that. Help me feel that up to and past the day!

boyfriends

2011-10-12T16:48:00.000-05:00

In the less than two months since I last posted about Silas, we've reunited, and been spending a lot of time together. While our first round was a little bit bumpy - which I take most of the credit for - our second go-around has been much, much smoother. Both of us now willing to readjust our individual speeds and expectations - just a little bit, really. Nothing extraordinary. Just enough for us to move closer to where the other one is at; just enough to perfectly align.

I've begun to open up again. Earlier this year, I came upon s sense of confidence, that I just as quickly shook myself out of. But, as I've begun to venture out again, that sweet momentum has started to return - surprise, surprise. I can't explain the "why's" of it - not that they matter right now. The opening up is what's important. As I've spent this time with him, I've ventured further. As we've laughed, watching television and clowning on each other, as we've picked up things for his new apartment, as we've gone grocery shopping together, as we've mixed with his friends and strangers, as we've mysteriously started using the pronoun "we," as we've told stories of necessary pasts and a shiny, joint future, as we've promised to be our own versions of True...I realized I was ready to open up and play the game. I realized that dragging hesitation is no longer my "correct." There are new facets to be lived, and lots of new ground to cover. I have that inner "all's a go!" that wasn't there before, showing up in its own, right time - come to let me know that the time has come to cover.

I'll be a boyfriend. I'll be a partner.
But I'll never promise a "forever."
Just a loving, loyal, honest Now.
It's something beautiful we are.

sing all the way to quiet

2011-10-08T15:13:00.000-05:00

Cherished Friend,

You've called for me again, in your quiet way. As always, it's a privilege to come to you in the form of these words, with these reminders that you sometimes seek.

From out of the metaphorical darkness, you step out from your comfort zone and brave the unfamiliar. In fact, quite a lot lately. As you do, age-old thoughts surface, the nervous system does its work, its exhaustive dance. And yet, all the while, midst the fear and discomfort, you've remained Whole - have you noticed? Have you taken the time to really, really see that? Have you overlooked this awesome fact?

My precious one, what causes you your greatest suffering is your indulgence in thoughts of past and future - especially those that pertain to your social life. That is a favorite of yours.You dream up monsters from momentary perceptions, and you give them a supposed life they do not have. They are mental phantoms that you inadvertently concoct and allow yourself to be haunted by. Haven't you ever noticed how much kinder the living are, as opposed to the fictitious characters you've remembered and projected in to the future? Haven't you ever noticed that in both memory and anticipation, a person's emotional effect on you is greater than in your present moment physical interactions? Haven't you ever noticed that your mental ghosts assault you over and over, while the real-life versions simply did what they did - which, even at their cruelest, was their best, I might add - once, disappearing in to another Now? This is Grace. All that's needed is to notice and embrace it.

I've watched you. These last couple of weeks as you've been attending classes, being among strangers, befriending a new soul, and reconnecting with an old one - and I have been proud. Not because these are things that you "should" be doing. Not because the non-doing is "wrong" - for there is no such thing. Only choices made. I'm pleased and delighted with your actions because they make up a path that you've chosen to take - and you're taking it. You've not only listened to your heart, but you've begun acting on what you've heard. It's not been easy for you. I've seen the way you've agonized over the things you've said and the way you've said them, and most useless of all, how you've imagined they were received. And quite a few times you've wandered near the brink of sadness. I'm inviting you now, again, to be done with that. I'm inviting you to let yourself off the hook, to lighten up! Your job in this world as a soul - and as a friend - is to be the best of who and what you are. It is to abide in the present moment as consciously and kindly as you can. That's it; that's all you ever have to do. Period. Don't you love the simplicity of that!? Be done with non-existent pasts and futures - only visit them for the joy of it! Be done with your imaginary versions of the people in your life - only interact with them for the joy of it! Worry not how you are received by others - it's none of your business, it's not your work. It matters not what they think of your body or life situation. It matters not if they find you charming or repulsive, brilliant or insane. None of it has got a thing to do with you. You worry that you don't look right. You worry that you've said the wrong thing or in the wrong tone of voice. You worry that you'll not be found interesting or attractive or good enough in a multitude of ways. And I'm telling you that those things just don't matter. What matters is what's in your heart as you act in the moment. What's the intention behind that smile you gave? What's the intention behind those words you spoke? That's all you need question. You're not in their lives to say all the right things, to make all the right moves, to delight them in every way. Your job is not to entertain them or measure up. Your job is to be kind and honest. Your job is to tap in to the Love that you inherently are. You'll not always be as kind or as good or as brave as you want to be. There will be times of misunderstandings and ugliness, cruelty and despair. But if that's your best, if that's all that you can see, then worry not what comes next. Grace offers you a new Now to choose again. Worry not about those awkward pauses, worry not that your tastes are not the same, that you're boring or confused. Your heart is what makes this world go 'round. Remember that in your anxious times. See those nerves as the passing rain. Momentary darkness that veils a never-parting sun.

You fear the opinions of others, of not measuring up, of being somehow wrong - but as I've told you, and will continue to tell you until the end of supposed time, you are an expression of Source, of the Tao, of God...of Me. And as such, you are inherently perfect. In this dream world of relativity, yes, there are kinks and nightmares, and there are things to be worked on and chosen, but Who You Really Are is boundless. Remember this as you go about your days. Remember this as you're feeling your face turn red, during your awkward pauses, and the tightening of your chest, as you feel the urge to run. Remember this as you're feeling alone or inadequate. Worry not, for these are only My momentary songs. Sung and let go of. Remember that you are not here to please another soul in this world. Your work is to be the best of who and what you are.

You say what you say. They will say what they say. And so forth. There is no great mystery. There is no formula for how it should be done. It is Life unfolding. You're there because you want to be. End of story. Let the burning cheeks be. Let the unknown remain unknown. And when the class or day is over, when their car drives away or they walk out the door, let them go; send them away with Love, knowing that you brought them what you knew how to bring - the most valuable thing that you're able to offer: Yourself doing the best you can. That you're there attempting friendship, courting Life, is what matters - and in their souls, the radiation of your Heart is what they'll carry with them, whether they are able to recognize it consciously or not. You are incomprehensibly loved, not only by your friends, but enemies and strangers alike. It can be no other way.

I promise you this: there will come a so-called time when you'll see the truth of Life so clearly, that you'll uncontrollably laugh and joyfully weep at discovering, at remembering again, that all you've feared and loathed, was You...Us...all along. A literally unthinkable surprise!

Keep doing what you're doing.
Maybe even sing louder. ;-)

All my love,
Love

rest in peace, jamey rodemeyer

2011-09-21T23:32:00.000-05:00

Dear Jamey,

I read your name this afternoon. I read about your suicide. I happened across an article about you on my Facebook news feed. I read your story. So similar to the stories of so many young gay people who've been bullied - gay men it seems in particular. There seems to be more and more. I've read and heard about them. But yours - You - actually brought me to tears. Hearing your story made me sick to my stomach. It made me angry and incredibly sad. I think you touched me so much because I could definitely see my younger self in you. I found the YouTube video you made on a memorial page, where you reached out to other gay kids, reminding them that it gets better. I wish that you'd been here longer to see it, to taste it, to know if for yourself.

I was bullied too, and for the very same reason. The same words, the same hateful names were thrown at me. Carelessly tossed our way by children - and adults - whom lack the maturity, or the kindness, or the ability to understand what it's like for us to be different in this way. I read the posts that classmates left for you online, and saw how cruel they were. I'm sorry, Jamey. I am so sorry. That you felt alone, and that you felt misunderstood and unheard. I'm sorry that no one stepped in on your behalf or that in the places you reached out for help, they could not, or would not, or didn't know how to give you what you needed. I'm so sorry that you were failed - because you were failed. No one, no one, deserves being made to feel that who they inherently are is wrong or not good enough. I can see in your pictures, and can tell by reading the accounts of people who knew you, that you were special.

Listening to you speak, watching your video - you were adorable. I wish that at least once, the two of us could have gone for a walk. I would have told you things that I would have liked to have been told when I was your age and going through the kinds of things, and the kind of pain, that you were. I would have told you what your favorite, Lady Gaga, already had: that you were born this way. That Nature makes no mistakes and that you've grown in to exactly the young man that you were meant to be. I would have told you that you're right on track, that you're doing just fine, and that all you need to do is take it one step and one day at a time, that eventually you'll find yourself in a bigger, more accepting world. I would have said to hang on. To savor the moments with the friends you have, the ones that love you, because these are the people and the moments that matter. The smiles and laughter and acceptance right in front of you when you're with them, I'd tell you that that is what life can be. I'd have told you that the words and the name-calling will one day be an echo that you only sometimes hear. That there will come a time when you hardly hear those whispers, your adult life far too loud, far too rich to be disturbed. There are people out there whom you'll one day meet that will understand you and that will have a fondness and respect for you, simply because they've been through what you've been through and they know what it took. I would have told you to be yourself, never to mold yourself in to what others say you should be, and to be proud of that at all costs. Because it doesn't matter what you do, how you dress, how you carry yourself, the money you have, the car you drive, or who you sleep with, who you spend your life with. Trying to manipulate their perceptions is useless. The truth is, no matter what kind of man you grow up to be, as sure as the sun shines and the moon follows, there will be people in this world who will take one look at you and decide that you're not enough. Regardless of your character or the love you spread, there will be people blind to your goodness, who will think the worst of you. You will never be able to please everyone. And because of that, I'd say to you, that peace can only be found by listening to your heart - never the voices outside you. Others are clueless as to what you're about, what you're capable of bringing to the world. Who You Are is so precious, so holy; the only thing you ever need to be is You. And those who cannot see that, who tear you down, who add nothing of value or beauty to your life - run from them. Life is too short to settle for anything less. Run from them and never, never look back. If I could have told you these things, I would have. I'm sorry that I never got the chance.

I think it sucks - and that comes nowhere near describing it - I think it sucks that your life had to be lost in order for you to finally be heard. It's heartbreaking that you chose what you chose. But you know what? I really do believe that people will take notice, that your death will get under their skin and move them to action. Bullying and hate are not okay. I pray that the pain you lived and the life you took will spare other young people from having to endure the kinds of things that you did - and I really think it will. Your life may have been short, but that's a huge, significant effect to leave in your wake.

I've only known of your existence for a few hours, but you're in my heart, kid - and in many, many others I'm sure. I have no doubt about it.

Rest in Love now, Jamey.

May you rest in Peace.

a course in learning how to crawl

2011-09-20T21:22:00.000-05:00

Awkward, superficial encounters with strangers - my favorite way to k(f)ill a morning. Not really, but I'm gonna go ahead and try it on for size anyway. I'm going to approach this whole forcing of self to interact with a small group of people whom I don't know and whom don't know me (all parties equally content to keep it that way) as if it were the most brilliant idea I've ever had. I'm going to pretend that I have nothing else better to do - which honestly won't involve any actual pretending.

After meeting with a vocational counselor and a psychologist, whom performed a battery of psychological and intelligence tests on me, it's been suggested...well, technically required...that I attend a roughly two-month-long social skills training group. If I plan to continue in their vocational program, that is. Now, during my days of silence awhile back, I came up with the emotionally idyllic life for myself and have been taking strides towards making it happen. This program is something that I inquired about earlier in the year before I knew the direction I was going. At this point, I'm not sure if it will be able to hook me up with the sort of work I'd like, but the way I see it, it's still in concert with my dream, just another avenue the Universe can use to help get me where I want to go. Peace in social situations IS a part of that dream and here's the most suitable practice right on time, right at my feet.

Our first meeting was last week, and I walked out of it with an inner confidence I've not felt in awhile. Earlier in the week, I'd attended my first college class in quite some time - which went well! - so I had a little morale booster behind me; a fresh chunk of proof that I can do things like this; a nudge to keep on going. So truth be told, I wasn't very nervous come the morning of my first meeting. I smiled at people and made eye contact. And when asked to introduce ourselves, I volunteered first (though mostly to get it over with). I added soundly to the discussion. I made a witty comment that made people laugh. I even made small talk with a classmate during break while he smoked. I felt my charm unequivocal. Afterward, I began to wonder what made me think all this time I'm a socially inept person, when I am so obviously equipped to handle harmless strangers. What's the big deal, I thought.

Well, Mr. Cocky - Dr. Naive if you like - the big deal is that you hadn't yet been challenged. You hadn't yet felt threatened. You hadn't yet had to face in other people's eyes the things you despise about yourself. You hadn't yet let Life reveal why you were there.

And for that, all I'd need is a little more patience.

During the series of exercises in communication, we were supposed to face our partner and make direct eye contact to practice our "attending skills." Well, one look across the table at my partner, one look in to his "judgmental" eyes in this contrived fashion, and I couldn't hold it, that small gesture. My adrenaline kicked in. My face grew red. My fear of being seen was exposed and I felt the stress all over my body. Forcing myself to "actively listen" to his "blah blah blah" felt impossible and I blurted out, "I hate this!" The instructor said some reassuring thing or another and asked the class if anyone else was experiencing discomfort - which was only answered with silence. Thanks, guys. The sound of crickets was deafening. I felt stupid. It's one thing to inwardly be nervous, but to show it all over your red face and to actually say it out loud, that's when you can't go back. From that moment on, I'm that guy. I'm that nervous, awkward, blushing loser. Once it creeps in to the minds of others, I can't stop it from spreading or being "True." Who I think I am and hate about myself is public knowledge and it's impossible for me to be redeemed. Because now I know they know what I'm afraid of. I could mentally see all of these people concluding who I am, one by one. "Of course," their collective psyches said, "this is who this loser is. This is what he's about - and he's pathetic." Luckily our break was right about then, so I got to go outside and breathe myself back to Now. I was able to walk around in Morning some and bring myself back to a saner, truer place. It helped. Breathing really is a Friend. The second half of the class went much easier once I'd felt my blood vessels relax and my cheeks cool off. Reminding myself I'm not that important - or unique (they're in the class with me after all) - was helpful too.

As uncomfortable as it was, I am not running scared. It was a fleeting episode in an otherwise perfect day. I am not going anywhere. Yeah, my ego got a little dented - but oh, well. The world didn't end. I'm still here - period. That's what matters. Yeah, it didn't feel good. It sucked. And it's gonna suck again and again until the day it doesn't. It's the painful gift of being humbled; it's a process of learning how to embrace your jackassery and of actually learning to be cool with it, for the simple fact that in the moment, there's nothing else you could possibly be. It's making peace with the fact that you have to learn to walk before you can run - and in my case, learn to crawl before you can walk. I need to lose the idea that getting where I want to go will end up being effortless, or that I'm going to be the exception to the rule and somehow get from point A to point B without getting dirty. Life itself is dirty. But a soul can get dirty and still experience the Joy throughout.

The dirty is where our grace is found.

And that's why I'm here doing what I'm doing.

To prove it. To me.

we remember you

2011-09-11T16:42:00.000-05:00

The collective "We" don't know your names or faces, for the most part. We don't know the countless details that made up the days of your lives. The kinds of relationships you had with your friends, family, and loved ones. Your favorites and your fears. Your virtues and sometimes petty ways. Both the things you were able to accomplish, and the things you never got around to. In short: we don't know the worlds you left behind. And were it not for that September morning, "You," as a group, wouldn't have ever even crossed our minds. But that morning, that truly hellish day, did come and go - and so here you are. In our hearts and thoughts. Ten years later. We still can't know why, not really. We can't know what's next. But we do like to think that your deaths were not in vain. Because of you, heroes came to be. Some of us were shaken awake from ancient sleep. Some of us began to see our power to choose. Some of us became aware of our places in the world, and became inspired to question them. Some of us became a little lighter, kinder. Yes, some of us are haunted. Bitter still, and grieving. Some of us are trapped in hate not knowing the way out. All are valid; all reactions appropriate in their time and place of being. We see your collective fate in different ways. We took - and continue to take - from that September day what our Soul would be provided with by that Divine Intelligence, the God of our individual understandings that ultimately decides what we're most in need of receiving. That is not a small thing. Can you appreciate the vital role you've played in humanity's growing-up process? Can you appreciate the wildfire of seeking you've inspired? Our lives are short and this world is fragile; you reminded us of this too. We're right to believe your deaths were not in vain. Precious strangers. Whether We knew you or not - we know You in the sense that you've touched us in your multitude of sacred ways. We'll remember You for a very, very long time. ♥

apologies accepted

2011-08-30T20:18:00.000-05:00

The day after my birthday, I got a message on Facebook from my dear, gone Silas. It was a "hello" and a birthday wish. Since then we've exchanged messages, texted a few times, and even talked on the phone once. I think there may be hope for us after all. At the very least, as friends.

The truth is, the situation hasn't changed. He's still his social, ready-to-settle-down self, so convinced that I'm the cool guy he thinks I am. And I'm still the shy one, not fully trusting, or ready to party in, the world he represents. So for the time being, we're at an impasse. The good news is, his contacting me again gave us each the chance to make our feelings known. Apologies were made. Laughter was had. And the groundwork was laid for a possible - I'd even say likely - rendezvous in the future.

It was a nice birthday present.
A good, good talk.

90° at midnight

2011-08-20T12:33:00.000-05:00

I stood at the kitchen sink last night, or more accurately, this minutes-old morning, washing my hands with lemon-scented soap, when I happened to look at the thermometer right above the sink, next to the window. It said 90.6 degrees. Compared to the 106, 107, 108, we've been having during the day, it was cool. But for the middle of the night, it just seemed...so warm. I considered going to bed soon thereafter but felt the urge to go outside. So I went out to the backyard and sat on the swing.

I favor these warmer months; summer nights, my favorite. The cold deadness of winter always takes its toll on my mood. I knew that a few months from now, I'd look back on this night, and all of the others I've taken advantage of, glad I enjoyed them while I could.

I saw through the cluster of pine branches, a glowing eye peeking through. Though I love the Moon, I don't keep well acquainted with it. Each time we see each other, it's like meeting someone new. Always different in color and shape. Not completely full, there was an intense clarity to it last evening; a boldness I appreciate.

I rocked on the swing and listened to Night, hearing the sound of traffic in the distance. I took the moments in. Giving thanks for the warmth, for the temporary summer blanket wrapped around me, the heat held me in a hug.

onward and upward

2011-08-18T13:06:00.000-05:00

I can't really say for sure. Maybe it's the "0" on the end that has me feeling like anything is possible. Zero represents nothingness after all - a vast, empty, field of Potential. With the now-gone "9" no more, its symbolic bulk has been released. Or maybe it's the "3" that comes before it, reminding me that I have three decades of accumulated trial and error under my belt to accompany that potential, sure to come in handy. But whatever the reason, 30 hasn't bummed me out like I imagined it might. I had some minor qualms beforehand, content to skip the day altogether, but in my first few days of wearing the number, it's been great.

I've never had much reaction to birthdays, not caring about the numbers. (Except for 27 which just sounded extraordinarily old to me.) But this one "feels" different. With 30, I feel like I've been granted a fresh slate. With 28 and 29, thoughts of how I'd wasted my 20s loitered in my mind, but with this new 30, it's like I've been given a whole new decade to thrive in. It's not about what I didn't do, anymore. From now on, the questions to ask are, "What will I do now? Who will I be today? What can I do from here? What's next?" It's "onward and upward." I really didn't expect such a shift in attitude from a simple change in number, invisible to the eye. But I do. And I refuse to let go of it.

30

2011-08-14T20:14:00.000-05:00

30 = 1 + 29

"Weighty Ghost" by Wintersleep

from me to you

2011-08-10T15:57:00.001-05:00

I want you to know that I love you. I want you to know that if you're in my life, whether as my inner circle or as someone I exchange comments and "likes" with on Facebook, you matter to me. The ways may be different; the ways we relate to each other and the ways I show you I care, but every single one of those expressions - no matter how they look - are real. You're here in my "orbit," and days, because I want you to be. I want you to know that I don't take your presence in my life - even if it's in the most seemingly superficial of ways - lightly. I know that you're here for a reason, playing a part in my life more sacred than I could ever begin to understand. You benefit my life, I know this. Even in the occasional trial or fury - every last bit of it is Good.

All that being said...I admit that I do keep you at bay. The truth is, the idea of being physically around you makes me nervous. When the doorbell or telephone rings, a panic arises inside me. When I receive a text or an email, a combination of happiness and dread appears. Happiness, because I'm genuinely thankful for the connection; dread, because I'm afraid that more than my words will be asked of me. Just writing this makes my face grow hot.

You either come around, naturally. Or you invite me from a distance. And in every case, with every one of you; it doesn't even matter the person - I want to run away from you. And most of the time, I do: feeling equal amounts of guilt and relief. You approach me, in all your different ways, inviting me in to your lives, in all your different ways, and I decline each one of them. Sometimes I'll see you, sometimes we'll speak: but seldom am I comfortable. Ill at ease in your company; your energy drains me.

Despite my respect for, and adoration of, you.

In my short time of silence awhile back, I took the time to do a lot of Inquiry. And I realized quite a few things. One of them being, that my anxiety is born of my mind alone, having nothing to do with you or the strangers of the world (whom I've always kind of held responsible). Only my thoughts are responsible. And as soon as I tend to the things that I fear and dislike in myself, my seeming fear of You will dissipate - because it's really not You I'm fearing. Only what I project on to You. It's my self-judgment that terrifies me, and I really see that. But seeing it isn't enough; seeing it does not mean my behavior or thought patterns will disappear. It does mean that I know what to do about them. And I want you to know that I am. I've found what I'm putting between us.

I used to be happy - or...satisfied - with being a seeming ghost. It doesn't work for me anymore. I want to move towards you when you call, not away. I want to open up to you. To All of It. You are not the one I am hiding from. And I wanted you to know that. As counter-intuitive as it is for me to ask, please give me more time. I can see exactly where to go and have already started taking those steps. I want you to know that sooner rather than later, I'll be calling you with invitations of my own, and gladly, gratefully accepting yours.

Fear makes for a very selfish person. I've not been the best son, grandson, nephew, uncle, cousin, brother, or friend that I could have been. You've reached out to me so many times and I push you away. Not out of disregard; but still, away. A kinder, braver person would have been there for you. If I've ever hurt your feelings or disappointed you in all of this time, I apologize sincerely.

Just know that I love you...and I'm working on it.

unquestionable purpose

2011-08-09T16:41:00.000-05:00

I've been reading a book on Holybooks.com - great, great site! - by Robert Wolfe, called "Living Nonduality." It's an awesome collection of thoughts and pointers geared towards (if that can be said) the recognition of our nondual existence (if that can be said). It's a fascinating read, as I find all Advaita Vedanta material to be. There are so many sections of the book that I find illuminating. But there is one passage in particular, titled "Unquestionable Purpose," that personally made a lot of sense to me and has brought some solace.

I think it's a little too long to quote, but here's the general line of questioning and I'll speak in first person:

If there is indeed a "purpose to my life," wouldn't it follow that it would be part of a larger plan that was connected with everyone else's "purposes?" And if that's the case, wouldn't it follow that there would have to be something Greater than us that put forth the plan? And wouldn't that something Greater need to know at all times what is going on with every single aspect of the plan - and wouldn't this plan need to involve the entire Universe, considering that as humans we're a part of it? If there is some larger, cohesive plan, it would be impossible for my purpose to be excluded - and that something Greater would know all about it, and know exactly what was needed to have it take place. My purpose would be It's purpose. And if there was a purpose I needed to know about - wouldn't the something Greater have me know it? Would the something Greater hide It's purpose (which is also mine) from a part (me) of It's own plan? Since there is a supposed planner to this Plan - why not trust It, Mr Wolfe asks. Why not trust or assume that whatever everyone is doing - including me - must be in harmony with the plan? He suggests that if we don't think it's "grand" enough a purpose - which is so often the story I tell myself - to then consider how "vitally important" it is in relationship to the entire plan.

I like this. It resonates with what I've already come to see: that there is nothing in this moment that could be other than it is - in this moment. My purpose is lived out of the moment - by moment by moment by moment; it's a very simple thing. And in these so-called moments, everything in the Universe has a relationship to me, and without who I am and what I'm doing in the moment - all else couldn't be what all else is...in the moment. Which is, of course, all there ever is.

This is all coming from a place of duality which the book isn't about - but it certainly gets the mind to looking at things from another perspective. And since my mind currently isn't operating from an enlightened point of view (because really, no "mind" can), duality's what I'm working with. And to feel less pressure about discovering some exceptional "purpose" for myself - let's just say it helps me breathe easier.

changing the channel

2011-08-07T22:41:00.000-05:00

Almost every summer I watch a reality/game show on TV that brings all sorts of people together in a house, strangers, with the objective of outlasting the others - at the end, being chosen by their housemates to win half a million dollars. Getting to the end, though, entails quite a bit of deception, back-stabbing, and the endurance of a whole lot of drama. I haven't watched every summer because part of me suspects that surely I have better things to do with my time. I mean...I do...right?

It was fun to find a favorite player or two and root for them as they played their competitions. It was also fun to find the ones I didn't like and watch gladly as they lost out to their competing housemates and earning, to my mind anyway, their well-deserved evictions. It's for the same reasons that I liked watching soap operas in the past. In high school I watched "Days of our Lives," and up until a year ago, every now and then, I'd watch "The Young and the Restless." It was the tragedy and romance, the ups and downs of the human experience that I thought were fun to watch. The "Good vs. Evil" theme is pretty compelling. It's fun to root for the "good guy" and to hate, hoping for the demise, of the "villain." I loved watching both types of characters having to face the consequences of their actions, and always hoped for the wayward to find redemption.

I've always preferred drama to comedy. I love to laugh, don't get me wrong, but I like dramas as entertainment, I guess, because they seem more real to me. If I want to escape reality, I have an excellent imagination for that. But as far as movies and television, the drama genre captures the swing of human emotion in a way that others don't - and I like that. You're able to see humanity's feelings in theirs. Plus the Yin-Yang nature of life has always fascinated me.

With drama for entertainment, though, there seems to be an inordinate amount of darkness. It seems like all they do is lie, steal, and manipulate, stirring up all kinds of needless drama for themselves. It's gross. I wouldn't want these people as my friends, so why am I watching it on television for fun? Without conflict, there's no story - and in this case, no game - but I'm just at the point where I've had enough. It's becoming less fun for me.

I don't know if it's just this year's group of players or a greater sensitivity on my part, but it's really started to get under my skin. I was watching tonight and I noticed the tightening of my chest and just how personally I was taking their rude actions towards each other, and I thought how crazy I was for sitting there watching it - and for letting myself be so affected. I realize that humans are not all good or all bad. I realize it's partly editing, it's partly the stressful, diabolical nature of the game - but the people on this show are so arrogant and just plain mean to each other. I can't stand watching people being hateful on purpose. I don't like bullies and can't stand cockiness. It pisses me off - way more than it should, I admit.

I just wonder why people can't compete and still be decent. I'm not saying everyone should gather together, smiling pointlessly while singing hymns. But can't you play a game, still looking out for yourself, without having to be a combative asshole towards your opponents? Can't you play to win AND have a grace about you? Is it really necessary to make another person your enemy? That's the nature of competition, I get it; you're there to win...I'm just asking whether or not it's possible to play a game for the FUN of it without being ruthless and intentionally insulting in the process?

I have no idea what it's like to live in that house or to be on camera with strangers 24/7. I know it can't be easy. Hell, I get in all kinds of nasty moods! I'm certainly not always kind. It's an emotional situation for them and I know they're doing the best they can - but I've got enough egoic junk of my own. Watching these people yell and cry and insult each other doesn't seem like the wisest spending of my time. I'm in no way dissing anyone that likes this show - or the players. I get how it's seen as fun. I've seen it that way too. But for whatever weird reason, I can't watch it anymore without feeling crappy - so it's time to wish them luck and change the channel.

what we do until we don't

2011-08-05T14:54:00.000-05:00

Recently, I found out that two people whom I've really thought well of - one a reality TV star I've never met and the other, a person not particularly close to me, but that I've always known and been fond of - hold views of gay people that aren't exactly open and accepting. One surprised me and hurt more than the other - the one from TV. Weird, right? But in both cases, I feel a little betrayed. Betrayal's not really the right word, but I'll go ahead and use it.

The thoughts appeared, "Who the fuck are these people to say, let alone think, that there is something wrong with me or my queer brothers and sisters? How dare they assume that we're less than, that our lifestyles (as if they're all the same) are perverse or against nature, that the word "gay" is a worthy, suitable insult (really? are you 12?), that homosexuality is the equivalent to bestiality or pedophilia?" Part of me wants to laugh when I hear this shit. And part of me wants to cry. And still another - the largest part, I'm glad to say - understands...somewhat.

Anger came with those thoughts, of course. But really, with coming to see all of our worlds, all of our perceptions as simply the thoughts we think - none of which we originally decided upon - it's hard to stay mad. It's hard to take things like this personally, when you notice that all people believe what they believe and act accordingly, and that it ultimately has nothing to do with what they're focusing on. I can't even stay mad about the "fact" that while even though they're acting out of their conditioning, out of what they've been taught, they "should" choose to see things another way. Yeah, it's fine when they were children, but now they "should" be more mature, more wise - the mind argues. They "should" see how hateful they come across. But how can they? And how can I, or anyone offended by another's ignorance, expect them to see or understand something that they simply can't see or understand? You don't get angry with a child when they have a misstep. You realize they're doing the best they can, and then try to show them another, kinder way.

Since I've come to know what I know about these people, I've been thinking about them, watching them, and trying to see them as villains, fanning the flames, which is flat out crazy. I've been trying to make them wrong. But the truth is, all of their other goodness that I was attracted to and admired in the first place hasn't been erased just because one or two of their countless beliefs goes against what's true for me. Their goodness is still right there, apparent. It doesn't have to be a big deal; they don't have to be perceived as enemies. It's so nice to know that one can lighten up. It's a matter of letting them be where they are (as if I could change that, anyway) and remembering that I'm just like them. I certainly get stuck in judgments. In judging them - or anyone - to be wrong, I'm no better. I'm just seeing them how I see them. And I'd be kinder in the moment if I could. Just like they'd be.

Quoting Oprah Winfrey, quoting Maya Angelou - one of my favorite sayings to remember: "When you know better, you do better." And each of us will when we can.

serving life

2011-07-29T16:01:00.000-05:00

I watched the new documentary, "Serving Life," on OWN last night, which is about the hospice program at Angola Prison in Louisiana. Operating since 1998, it's a program made up of inmate volunteers who look after fellow prisoners in their final days. Most inmates in the state penitentiary are serving life sentences and will no doubt die within the prison walls. The hospice allows these men to die with a dignity and connection that would have been denied them otherwise. Not only that, it gives volunteers - who have been convicted of robbery, rape, murder, etc. - the gift of expressing compassion and giving back. It was fascinating to watch. I think they have an awesome thing going on there.

The documentary followed four prisoners as they went through the application and interview process to become volunteers, along through their training and to the taking care of their first patients. Some prisoners are just so sick and in so much pain that they're literally incapable of taking care of themselves. It was hard to watch - so I can only imagine what it feels like to actually be there with the patients, lifting them, washing them, smelling the smells and seeing what they see, holding their hands and giving comfort as best they can. A few years ago, I visited my paternal grandmother a week before she died. While she was very weak, seeing her wasn't as striking or as haunting as what I saw last night.

One man in particular really got to me. Lying there in his bed, his eyes (what were they seeing?) and his mouth open wide, he had such labored breathing - gasping for air, it sounded like. They showed the man's mugshot from all those years ago. He was a convicted murderer. But looking at him there in that bed, there wasn't a killer to be found. I could only see a human being in pain. A human being on the brink of death. A human being, days, hours, minutes away from taking the steps that every single one of us will eventually take.

The dying men were revealed to be ordinary, transitory human beings. As were the volunteers who were taking care of them. All of these men had committed crimes. They had intentionally caused other people pain. They'd made mistakes. But here, as the process of dying and hospice unfold, their roles as criminals are washed away. Not that their good deeds wipe away the pain they caused or that all is automatically forgotten - but it becomes clear that they're something greater than their past. Karma or God or Consequence will take care of what's taken place before. But for now, in this space of hospice, judgment is set aside. Like one of the volunteers said, that could be him in that bed. It could be any of us. The day might come when we find ourselves incapacitated, totally dependent on those around us for our basic needs. Life is going to have Its way. What happens will happen. May we all be blessed to have that Love around us when we pass. I think it takes an extraordinary Soul to look sickness and death in the face - and offer Love like that, unflinchingly. These people really are angels. Murderers, afraid and hateful - oh, blessed time! All of us are capable of being redeemed.They are just like us, these criminals. They're humans that have made choices, some wiser than others - who are free to redefine themselves at any moment. Thinking of death isn't something I do a lot, let alone imagining dying from a terminal illness, but all is possible. Seeing this has made me think. I just want to say how awesome I think hospice and healthcare workers are for the work they do. Our planet is blessed to have them.

Not just the documentary itself, but its title, I love. "Serving Life." On the surface, it looks simply like prisoners taking care of other prisoner as they die - and they are. But if you look closer, you can see that it is actually Life (or Love or God) in one, serving the Life (or Love or God) in another - and vice versa. Namaste in action.

in the sweet spot

2011-07-21T17:26:00.000-05:00

Yes. I admit it. I danced to Katrina and the Waves. I admit that I "walked on sunshine" - and that I'm gonna do it again.

I was in my room yesterday afternoon when luckily, I noticed myself starting to feel listless. I sensed the storm approaching; I caught that unmistakable scent of nearing mental rain. And for whatever reason, I had the sense to take a look at my thoughts and notice the effect they were having before I found myself drenched and wallowing. Fortunately, I was present enough to confront it and nip that whole scene in the bud. My solution? To shake off those creepy, crawly agents of crapdom and make room for a little light - by turning on the music and literally shaking, swinging, and sweating them out of me.

I have no moves, I just...move. Considering the body-mind connection, it makes sense that a static body, one at rest and not allowed its exercise, could lead to a mind-stream that's static and fraught. So I figured in order to revitalize the moment and my mind, it would be a good idea to get up and move my ass. I've always liked to dance. I've always known it makes me feel good. In the way that meditation has become so important to me with regards to my soul, I'd like to see exercise become just as important to me in regards to my body - because up until now, it hasn't been. It's always come in fits and starts. But the body is a temple, partner, manifestation of the soul; they go together. It deserves more. As do I. But in order to spark the necessary desire, I need to redefine the purpose it serves.

Now, I realize that my needing exercise is no epiphany. But today I noticed that it's there, midst the sweat and Highness, where the magic happens. I've beheld exercise in a screwy light. I've looked at it as a tool to getting my body in shape - which it is, and that's wonderful - the trouble is: I'm prone to thinking of it as a means to an end, a necessary evil, and a miserable one at that. Which just sets it up in my mind as something to be avoided. Even though I've seen again and again that once I get up and take that first step, I love it - during and after! It's the stories beforehand that keep me from it - every single time. But when I'm in it, I am in it. I'm in what Abraham calls the Vortex. I'm in that sweet spot of absolute acceptance. Total surrender to the Now. That space of non-resistance. It's where the visions appear. It's where I connect with Possibility. I love that I'd learn to habitually return to this place - or state of being - in times of impending distress. Instead of turning to sugar, turn to activity. Turning from carbs and to music. Food is a story for another day, though. Movement for the sake of channeling Good, that's what I'm going for; that's my plan; that's my ticket to the kind of lightness I'm looking for. The focus needs to shift from a future pay off to the present euphoria - that's enough! I can imagine how this could change my relationship to exercise. Unlike what the mind would have me believe, it will not be some chore I have to suffer through, but instead, become an act of daily communion - from which fitness will surely follow.

As I'm writing this, the thought appears: "Yeah, if it were so easy, you'd have done it before, fatso." And right on its heels, Byron Katie appears (She's been doing that a lot lately. Mos def a BFF!), taking me by the hand and asking, "Sweetheart, is that true? How do you react when you believe that thought?" And with that, I'm reminded of the tools I have for the times when thoughts come calling that would seek to keep me from standing up, turning up the volume, and acknowledging my Peace one shimmy, or ass-shake, at a time.

until you're mine (i'll dance like i'm old & wise)

2011-07-19T20:21:00.000-05:00

I've never thought of myself as a catch. I've never consistently thought of myself as actually being relationship material at all. It's a semi-foreign thought. Seriously. How could I be? The life I've set up for myself isn't exactly conducive for establishing myself as such - so far, anyway. But I've dated some, so of course I've had those thoughts, feelings, and conversations - which have always been enough for me. They still are. But every now and then, I'll think of him and wonder if it was this life we agreed to meet up in, or the next. Every now and then, I like to imagine how nice it would be to have that karmic teacher/teammate/lover around. Yeah, I've thought about him every once in a while, but at my core, I've never been ready; I've known that, so being single has never really bothered me; it's not something I often think about. I've been too busy wrapped up in myself: so busy hiding and wavering, trying to figure things out - doing the things I do. While I've liked the idea of having a partner, I've always approached the subject with a "Cool if it happens, cool if it doesn't," attitude. He's always been a vague, sweet story of the future - and honestly, until he shows up, that's all he can be. But last night, I got the very real impression than he's more than just a dream.

For some inexplicable reason, as I was enjoying the sunshiny tunes of...well, I'll just say it's a pop-country band with a female singer - that's enough info, yes? ;-) ...when I began to have lively, unsolicited visions of he and I together. The song, so light and plucky, swirled around my insides and lifted me off to some alternate reality - and the more I listened, the more intense and detailed the visions became. I saw us doing all of the things I wrote about here. But on top of that, the most bizarre thing of all - was seeing us getting married! The idea makes me laugh out loud! It's nothing I've ever seriously considered. I've never even had a boyfriend proper. I can't even have people casually look at me for more than a few moments without having a strong wanting to pull my shirt up over my head. How could I outlast such a ceremony - let alone a marriage? Oh, but in the visions...none of that was a problem. I wish I could express how light I felt those hours, how confident, how at Home, how connected to the people I love. Everyone was there. Not just him. All my Loved Ones.

It felt good, the dream...and...it's so far away from where I am now. But it felt GOOD and it felt REAL. And it sparked in me something that hasn't been there before - the notion that he really is out there, that I'm not just destined to be alone this go-around, that it's just a matter of time and alignment. Just a shift in spirit is all I need. And do you know why I trust it? Because the joy I felt in the dreaming of it came to me out of nowhere. It arrived unasked for just like the vastness that I experience in meditation, the bodily pleasure and lights that sometimes occur; my time with him and the images of being with friends and family on my wedding day - (Haha! That sounds so funny to me!) - arrived unexpected, just like that surge of Love I felt the night of Simone's wedding - it was more than I could have hoped for. They were gifts I was given that I did nothing to deserve. It was nothing I tried to manipulate in to being. It was so Now-ly real. And that's what this was.

Yes, it could just be a sweet dream like I said. But I choose to trust it, as it were a guide, reassuring. Not just that there's some guy out there, but that Possibility is out there. That I could connect not just with a partner, but with everyone I care about. That I really am capable of such a free mind, such a love, such a day.

"Until You're Mine"

I'll be here and I don't mind
Well, I'll be here, the waiting's fine
I'll be here, where the night sky shines
And I'll be here until you're mine

And I won't lose
Won't lose you

I will wait until it's time
And I will wait for the signal sign
Well, I will wait for it all to align
I will wait until you're mine

And I won't lose
I won't lose
I won't lose
Won't lose you

I will dance and sing in time
Yeah, I will dance you across the line
I will dance like I'm old and wise
I will dance because you're mine

And I won't lose
I won't lose
I won't lose
Won't lose you
I won't lose you
Won't lose you
I won't lose

- Alec Gross

go away

2011-07-13T15:21:00.000-05:00

I walked in to someone's space not long ago, admittedly uninvited, just to say "hello," to see what was going on. After a couple of minutes of chatting, the person breezily turned away from me, and said "Go away. I need to..." Go away. Just like that. It wasn't personal and it wasn't said harshly; it was just said...bluntly. This wasn't the first time this scene had played out. And both times it struck me as dismissive, the curtness of it, the turning away. I thought, "Well...that was rude." That was my initial reaction. But this last time as I left the person be, all I could find was humor. I suppose it's Inquiry taking hold; I don't know. I just can't look at my thoughts in the same way. A little spike of annoyance rushed through me as the thoughts came, "They should be more sensitive. They shouldn't be so rude." But as I thought over the person's simple words, I had to laugh! All they said was, "Go away. I need to..." I realized quickly that all that took place was a person telling me they were busy and that I wasn't wanted in their presence right then. Period. Nothing personal there. Just a loved one honestly telling me what they want from me in the moment. Just a loved one going about their life. The mind swooped in telling me what it meant, though, how it should have been different, etc. - and that was where the twinge of irritation came from. Not their words. Amazing!

One of my most well-rehearsed, clung-to stories of all is the tale of how I'm a guy without direction. The guy without a purpose. Well, here came God disguised as this loved one, telling me exactly what to do and where to go in that moment: away. All the person did was tell me where I wasn't supposed to be in that moment - so clearly! How else could I have known? Where am I supposed to be? Not there. So I'll walk away. That's my purpose. Isn't that weird? I sit down. Or I read a book. Or I pee. Or I fill my green plastic cup with ice and pour a Diet Mountain Dew over the pile of cubes, and take a drink. Simple as that! That's my purpose - until Life would have me do otherwise. That's my purpose - it's what Is in this Now - and is eternally that easy to find and decipher.

Taking thoughts and people's words or behavior so personally doesn't serve me one iota. And to do so is, I think, an innocent misunderstanding. Approaching them as manifestations of the Divine, all sent as clues, all sent to guide this so-called "me" to what comes next - now that's exciting! That sounds more like it. Life shows up and I don't need to know what comes next. It will lead me this way, it will lead me that way. And none of it is personal. Amazing!

one man's heaven

2011-07-12T21:55:00.000-05:00

I've read countless books and listened to countless talks by countless teachers throughout my life, all in an attempt to better understand my place in the Universe. Trying to get closer to God, to make sense of God, has been the only thing that has ever truly piqued my interest. There is nothing that I love more; nothing excites me or has the ability to make me lose track of time more than investigating matters of the Soul. This study is joy for me.

The "trouble" with being so passionate about a topic like God is that the word "God," the idea of "God," has so much baggage and means so many different things to so many different people. I just want to clarify what I'm talking about when I speak of God. I'm speaking of the Source of everything. The Intelligence behind, and responsible for, the unfolding reality of the present moment. The still, conscious, aware "space" in which everything that is known arises and disappears. I call it God, Universe, Tao, Reality, I-AM, Source, Awareness - all of these names are different words which, to me, mean the same thing. Words that ultimately only point, not convey.

That's the paradox. We can't know the Divine with words and theories. And still I use them. We can't attain Enlightenment or reach Nirvana by reading books. And still I read them. Only because it's the best I've got so far. It's where I am.

For whomever is reading these words and for whatever reasons, I just want you to know that I don't believe I've found THE Truth. I don't think THE Truth can be known by a human mind anyway - I think that It is something transcendent. I only post what I do on the blog or my Facebook page because it makes me happy. They are ideas that resonate with me. They give my ego a temporary sense of being safe, of understanding. I would never truly try to change another person's point of view or claim to know it. That would be screwing with another person's entire sense of self; it would be tampering with another person's perceptual understanding of their Universe.

I've come to see that many people often aren't interested in other people's opinions anyway! And unless they're asked for, they just don't need them. Everyone is getting along just fine with their own. A person's relationship with God is a very personal thing and I love that they would have them. All we have is the God of our understanding - and I want everyone to have what's rightfully theirs. I don't mean to offend anyone with what I share. I just like expressing my take on things through words because that's what I do - because I often like my take on things. ;-) I adore writing about my understanding of God and the unfolding of my life through a spiritual lens - that's it. It's always only for me. Only because the impulse is there and it makes me feel good. I use words and concepts that I need to hear. When I write or post, it's because it's something I need to read or be reminded of. If someone happens to come along and likes what I have to say, right on. I love it, I do! And if they don't, I can understand why.

The only Truth I ever offer anywhere- or that anyone offers, I'd say - regarding the Divine, especially - is simply a fallible product of the mind. Something to be considered or not. I wrote this post simply because I wanted my readers and Loved Ones to know that this mind, in particular, knows that it doesn't know. It's only ever after its own entertainment, it's own conclusions.This mind wants for your mind what your mind wants for itself.

three was all it took

2011-07-03T00:52:00.000-05:00

What I really wanted from my seven days of silence was to take a deliberate step away from things like Facebook and "The First 48," so that I could stop brushing the idea aside for once, and actually take an honest step - no, an all out dive! - into Inquiry. I decided, on top of having no TV or internet, that choosing not to speak during this time and having little contact with my family was the thing to do - for the sole purpose of keeping me alone with my thoughts. Alone with thought, as far as I'm concerned, there's nothing for one to do but abide as the Witness (which is who we are at our core) and/or investigate the validity of the thoughts that appear - if the end of suffering is what you're after. And it was. So I did. For hours.

I spent a lot of time meditating - using both the deep meditation technique from AYP, as well as another that I'll write about later. The majority of my time, though, was spent simply looking at my thoughts, attempting to see what is really true for me. Over the years I've spent a lot of time feeling wrong. About who I am. What I look like or how I come across. What I should or shouldn't be doing with my life. I just couldn't seem to make sense of, or find security in, what is so. It was a lot of energy that could have been channeled in to something great - though thinking like that at this point is useless...and come to think of it, who's to say it wasn't?

I'm tired of having split energy. It hurts. Of having such flimsy direction, such shoddy faith. Of making choices (or refusing to) and then wondering how they look to others, how they compare to others, how I fail to measure up to others - and then beating my ass up for it. It brings indecisive paralysis - and it's all BS. There's one Life going on here. There's only one apparent relationship to Source that I need to deal with. So that's what these past few days were for. For jumping in to that. For soaking in the Self. For jump-starting my Inquiry. For seeing what kind of dreams I'd dream if I no longer believed the thoughts that I've been allowing to stand between us. So that's what I did; I sketched those dreams. And then questioned the mind-made obstacles that would keep me from reaching them.

I thought I'd take a week of solitude and disconnection, but last night, on the evening of the third day, I knew that I was finished. I realized that I'd gotten what I needed and I could turn on the computer again if I wanted. I've always known that The Work was an important tool - and it's been useful when I've actually taken the time to use it, but after doing it non-stop for the past few days, I daresay that it's beginning to take hold. I'm so glad I took that Quiet. It's going to be an essential part of my every day routine from now on. Right alongside brushing, flossing, and the breathing of air.

seven days of silence

2011-06-28T20:18:00.000-05:00

In the May 17th newsletter of Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology, the homework assignment he proposed was this: "Talk about the things you'd do if you lived for a week without consuming any Internet, TV, videos, radio, films, newspapers, or magazines." I knew immediately what I'd do. Something I always tell myself I'm going to do, that I want to do, that I'd so benefit from - and yet I repeatedly push it off to some vague future - despite the feeling of relief I get from just the thought of all that disconnection from the outside world. True, I keep further from the world than others do, but the voices and images from the little screens I take time to look at and fall asleep in front of are more than plenty distracting, and more than enough to remind me that things are "out there." And so enough of that! It's time to unplug.

Without all the noise - what will I do? How will I spend the hours? With a vow of Silence. I'm going to sit with my mind. I'm going to sit with Life. I'm going to walk. I'm going to meditate. I'm going to write. And I'm going to inquire - using The Work of Byron Katie. It's going to be a dream-defining, Vippassana retreat and nine day School for The Work rolled in to one, Jeff Patterson style. I'm going to take the time to think about my life and where I want it to go. I'm going to define the kind of life I want to lead. The kind of life that I'll look back on and be proud and grateful and astonished to have lived. And once I have that crystallized, I'm going to take every single concept in my mind that would keep me from taking steps towards living that life and I'm going to question them one by one, to find out what is ultimately True.

I turn off the phone, television, laptop.

I shut my mouth and admit that I don't know what's best.

I-AM, I'm listening. Let's do this.

an unasked-for assertion of our buddha-nature

2011-06-22T20:58:00.000-05:00

I know you didn't ask what I thought. You probably didn't even wonder. It's none of my business, really...But you know, if you had wondered, this is what I would have said. I would have told you that it's going to be okay. All of it. Not that it's going to be okay - but that it already IS. That it always is - whether we're aware of it or not, able to see it yet or not.

I'd pull you out in to the sun; I'd take you by the hands and spin you. We would spin each other. 'Round and 'round.

I'd have said, "Pick any person on this planet - past or present, saintly or otherwise - and we all have at least one thing in common: we're human. And as humans, yeah, we can be a little gnarly - but our potential for expressing Love in Its purest form is always there. So you're not at that point yet, that's cool. Neither am I. And neither are 99% (?) of our fellow humans. You're not behaving as the Buddha would, you're right. You're not walking and talking quite like Jesus. But neither are you behaving like the cashier at the grocery store, or the person in front of you at the post office, or the murderer you heard about on the news. You're doing something infinitely more appropriate - you're embracing you. Do you see? It's not a matter of measuring up or comparing. It's just a matter of difference. Of wakefulness. We're manifesting as the Divine at our own particular "levels" so to speak, and in just the right way. And as humans, the "right way" often includes disquiet and violence, and a relentless yearning for reality to show up differently than it does in the moment. It includes fighting situations when we know good and well that acceptance is where our Freedom's found. It means sometimes indulging in thoughts that we know don't serve us and acting on them despite our better judgment. It means sometimes cowering in the darkness even after seeing the liberating nature of the light. It's silly. It's self-destructive. And it is what it is until it isn't anymore. It's all we've got until we're able to cultivate a clearer way. Despite all of that, though - despite our unique human foibles - we are divine. No, you're not the Buddha - BUT - you are brimming with, you exist as, you are Buddha-Nature. Midst your hating and frustration, and yes, your moments of beauty too, you ARE a buddha. You are You, living out your Buddha-Nature just the way Siddhartha did before he woke up. I promise you, friend to friend, you are right on time. You are waking up too. Each of us are waking up - as the Holy Ones have done before. The cashier is, the recluse. The unemployed, the thrill-seekers. The addicted and afraid. The glittery girl with game tokens.

I know you didn't ask what I'd say. But I knew that I could stand to hear it too. I could stand to take a little walk; I can always use a little sun.

looking within and laughing out loud

2011-06-17T00:00:00.001-05:00

I love, love, love watching these dialogues between people and Byron Katie as they do the process of inquiry that Katie calls "The Work." This clip never fails to make me laugh! Inquiry lets us see just how amusing and absurd our believed, tyrannical thoughts actually are. These clips always inspire me to get back to "Work."

fat girl

2011-06-15T20:28:00.001-05:00

The first time I believed there was something wrong with me, I was 7 years old. I can remember standing outside, near trees but still in sunlight, with a couple of girls, classmates, at the beginning of recess. They were who I wanted to be with; I wanted to play. It's where I felt I belonged. Until a boy, or boys, I don't know which, said something about my not playing with them, not going with them to the field to play whatever sports, how I should have been. What he said or who it was I can't remember. All that I remember, as they ran off, was feeling wrong. It's the first time the thought occurred to me that I was someone other than I should be, acting in a way I shouldn't.

I was a feminine little boy. Someone told me a few years ago that my uncle pronounced me gay at five years old. He might have been the first but was nowhere near the last. Looking back, I see how many clues I left. I played with My Little Pony and Rainbow Brite. I loved Punky Brewster and Pippi Longstocking, both their attitudes and fashion sense. My mannerisms, the way I dressed, how I spoke, all of it gave my difference away. Of course I had no idea there was anything queer going on - pun intended. ;-) All I knew is that I liked what I liked and that I simply found fun where I found it.

Elementary school through puberty was hell. I'd say not a day would go by - well, maybe two or three - that I wasn't made fun of or called names. Kids I didn't even know would come up to me and call me a faggot. Or a girl. Or queer. Or gay. And more often than you'd think, they'd ask me if I were a boy or a girl, seeming genuinely confused. When middle school came around, sixth grade, I was terrified to change clothes in the locker room. Some days I would run from my science class so I could get there before anyone else. Sometimes I'd pretend I'd forgotten my locker combination, so that I'd have a legitimate excuse for not dressing out. One strategy I adopted for awhile was wearing my gym uniform under my clothes, and trying to quickly change in a bathroom stall without being noticed - which was semi-easy at the beginning of class, not so much afterward. Every day I was faced with figuring out how to smartly deal with these potential threats without drawing even more attention to myself or getting in to trouble. It wasn't easy. One day I took my clothes in the laundry room to change, but one of the boys saw me and he told everyone, which didn't help my already pathetically abnormal reputation. I was humiliated and I got to be reminded of what a fearful faggot I was just about every day.

One particular day during P.E., the class was playing volleyball when the ball came over the net straight for me. Not even trying to hit it, I deliberately moved to the side and let it drop. I refused to participate because when I did, I'd get made fun of for it. For my lack of skill. Or strength. Or plain old boyishness. When I let the ball hit the floor and the other team scored, my teammates got pissed off, and I heard myself being called a "fat girl." I looked behind me and a chubby girl I didn't know well - I'll call her Belinda - was looking at me with the most hateful expression on her face, and then she said it again. "Fat girl."

The reason this episodes stays with me the way it does, I guess, is because it was a girl that was calling me this. It was a girl that was making fun of me, picking on me in front of everybody. I was "used to it" from the boys, they did it all the time, year after year. But not the girls. Girls had always been who I'd bonded with and felt safer around. And here was one no better than they were. I felt betrayed - and incredibly alone.

With puberty, masculinity kicked in and I lost that flaming streak, at least to the degree I didn't burn so conspicuously. I heard "fag" once or twice in high school years, but for the most part, that shit died down. I have my moments like every gay guy does, though. Actually, the more I think about it, I shouldn't even try to comment on my own demeanor. My sense of self is so screwy. I have no idea how masculine or feminine I appear or come across. I just know that when I hear my voice recorded or am innocently impersonated, or see myself reflected in some wall of glass, it's hard to take. I cringe when I see videos or pictures of me from that time in my life because I was so girly - and I was made to feel so wrong for it. It literally hurts to see myself like that, in that way. Being gay doesn't bother me. I like it. I'm down with the homo rainbow. That's a normal impulse given to me by Nature, no differently than a heterosexual is given their's. It's the femininity associated with my particular gay man-ness that bothers me so much. And only because it seems to bother other people. (At least the 11-year-olds that haunt my mind.)

Writing all of this, it's obvious this must be where my fear and preoccupation with other people's opinions of me comes from. Not sure why I'm even writing about all of this. I'm about to begin a book geared towards healing one's inner child and I guess I'm just revisiting all of this on my blog right now as a way of sticking my toe in to the fire. These things are hard to admit. I'm just looking at different avenues of healing because I'm so tired of lugging these memories and fears around. I have a life to get on with. And as long as I approach the people in my present as reflections of people - innocent, silly children - from the past, how can I ever meet this Life I'm so eager to get on with?

I looked Belinda up on Facebook the other day. I saw a picture of her in her wedding dress. I thought of sending her a message on my 11-year-old self's behalf, to tell her he thinks her 11-year-old self is a bitch. I considered writing her and telling her about the part she played in turning me in to such a neurotic fag. I polished off the fantasy with my going back to that moment in the gym when she called my 11-year-old self a "fat girl," and pushing her to the floor and grabbing her hair and banging her head against the wooden bleachers. Of course I didn't send her that message. That innocent child no longer exists. I'm the one that tortures me with these kinds of images. I'm the one that replays them; I'm the one that reinforces my identity as a childhood victim every time I lazily follow that thought pattern. But knowing this doesn't automatically relieve me of its traces. What knowing all of this does do for me, though, is allows me to look back on that little girl and little boy knowing that each of them were doing what they knew how to do - and it lets me look at both of them with a sense of forgiveness.

I'm ready to begin that book. I'm ready to see what this inner child of mine has to say.

pomp and circumstance

2011-06-13T19:30:00.000-05:00

While it wasn't my first - or God help me, my last - probably my most "defining" act of adult impetuousness anyway, was when I dropped out of high school in November of my senior year. I got my GED four months later, and I do have some college credits, so my "academic career" - haha! - wasn't irrevocably damaged. But the pattern I set in to motion with that decision still operates to this day. I wanted away from my stepfather. I wanted out of my house. I wanted out of my probation. I wanted away from "Lord of the Flies." I wanted relief from my depressed mind - period. Blind to better ways of coping, I quit and ran away. And in one fashion or another, I've been running ever since.

Once you decide that creeping off from something scary or challenging is something that you're willing and able to do, it becomes a decision that much easier to repeat in the future. And repeated over and over again through time, it comes to be seen as "the way it is." It becomes accepted as just "what I do" and "what I am" - which, in reality, are not static things. There's always the potential for change; Who You Are is eternally unfolding from moment to moment. But if you remain blind to that potential or just don't know how to unlock it, mental habits are bound to continue overriding it...until they don't anymore.

I have this on my mind because last week, my younger brother graduated from high school. My mom, stepfather, aunt and I all attended the ceremony; Grams and others watched on TV and online. It was held downtown at the Dallas Convention Center and the stadium was full up It was one of the biggest - if not the biggest (I can't remember exactly what they said ) - graduating class in the United States this year, with over 1400 students. And with over 1400 students allotted six tickets each, that made for a stadium packed with thousands of people - and a very surreal experience for Yours Truly. It was awesome, though.

Surprisingly, I had little anxiety the entire evening, something for which I'm very grateful. I actually enjoyed myself. I got to sit in my little seat and observe the assembled mass of people gathered all around. Nearer the end of the alphabet than the beginning, it took a while for my brother to cross the stage, but my aunt and I took turns playing Scrabble against each other on her phone while we waited, so time's effects were tame. As my aunt would be taking her turns, my focus darted back and forth between the suspended big screens that magnified the graduates upon the stage to the witnessing of nothing in particular. The unusual-ness of the situation led to a slight shift in perspective. A sudden, keen awareness of actually being located in space, and the feeling of being but one link in a semi-circular formed chain of Oneness led to everything being perceived as less and less personal, which I assume is the reason I didn't notice too much anxiety taking place. Minus an identified ego, where's the problem? It was an odd feeling to look out from my eyes to see so many people before me lined up in rows that stacked upon each other, sitting down and conversing, watching below, cheering at the calling of their loved ones' names, and the random, blinking flashes of camera light - so high up from the ground. The visual anomaly and very felt energy came at me from most directions and occupied almost my entire field of vision. There was a temporary glimpse of just how small I am. Or how big We are. I felt myself to be a single point of still, unknowable consciousness in an entire sea of humanity, suffused with seemingly separate minds - countless thoughts in flux, varied apprehensions, recollections and dreams. All swirling around in a not so physical, physical reality. And this was just one stadium, in one city, on an enormous planet plus universe - rendering me not so special, and not so different. The shift in awareness didn't last, but it's something I'm able to look back on as a pointer.

I've never really seen anything through to the finish line. No accomplishments like that of a graduation. So all I can do is imagine the relief that's felt, that sense of pride one must feel when they set an intention and consistently sail towards it regardless of the sometimes choppy waters. And when I do, it's clear to me just how deserving this makes them of the utmost pomp. :) It honestly inspires me. I look to my brother and many others as examples of what can be done. Beyond the idea of existing as a flawed, separate "someone" ensnared by ancient thoughts, lies that Awareness I periodically open up to, that's capable of manifesting so much more than what has been.

I'm seeing it. I dig it. I feel it more and more.

reminders in cars with boys

2011-06-09T16:00:00.000-05:00

I love the ways that people can effect each other. The way that we're able to touch people and make a difference in each others' lives. It's quite a responsibility when you think about it. It's quite a power. People can be viewed as angels worthy of our most high praise, or feared and hated in those instances where we tell stories about them that would keep us separate. Still others we pay little mind to at all, oblivious or simply indifferent, to the treasures they could potentially offer us. And depending on how we see them, how we treat them follows in kind.

My recent riding in cars with boys - including, and especially, my relationship with Silas - has shown me yet again just how much I tend to see people, strangers in ways that have me treating them in ways I'd rather not. In ways that keep us apart. (Is that really what I want?) Yes, I've met strangers. Opened up. Listened. I've spoken transparently. Sat with the anxiety; experienced it, marveling at who I am in the midst of it. This little dating trip I took has been a success as far as I'm concerned - but that doesn't mean I made all positive strides. In fact, I did a lot of arms-lengthing. I didn't step as far or as lightly as I could have...but I tried - and eventually I will again.

My tries and hesitations weren't enough for Silas, though. And he isn't speaking to me anymore. At first I was sad and then I was pissed off. And now I see that it just couldn't have been another way. With his eagerness and my trepidation, it only makes sense that we'd not last long in each other's orbits. That's just the way of it sometimes. He - and the other dudes I talked to - stirred things up inside, some of it I wasn't ready to look at. But I know it's there and that when I am ready to look again and closer, it will be waiting for me, ready to be seen.

Even though he's ignored my texts, I sent him an email last night - because that's what I do - and I hope that I was able to convey that no matter how short, I think our time together was special. Don't get me wrong, I also told him his ignoring me was wack and effed up, but I also told him that I don't blame him; I can see how I could have led him in that direction. I certainly wasn't blameless. Not by a long shot. After all, how long is a person supposed to wait...for Life?

He was the perfect person to be with me as I took my first little steps back in to the world. He was my first date and partner in years, and he was with me at my first "gay outing." I was messy and a fool - and we had fun anyway. There are many stories I'll tell myself when I think of Silas - but the shiniest and closest to the truth is that he's one of those angels worthy of the most high praise, that in the way that I know how, he's loved.

The effect people have on one another is an awesome thing - it's just not the whole story. It is we that scare ourselves and it is we that move us forward. It's our thoughts about the other - NOT the other. I can't blame Silas or anyone for my skittishness or fleeting feelings of failure. They're only thoughts and they are mine. And until I question them, I won't be able to use my power any other way.

back-sliding

2011-06-08T14:23:00.000-05:00

For a brief window of time, that I was living in not two months ago, I had a momentum going that had me feeling I could possibly be getting somewhere. In the months leading up to Simone's wedding, there seemed to be a Grace come to call - a mysterious force that began to operate, descending from the heavens, lifting me upward, out of my perceived limitations. I actually felt capable. Not fearless, no - but capable of facing that fear. Capable of existing with the fear, willing to discover who I ultimately am beyond the fear. But that willingness and sense of capability seem to have left me now. Before the newlyweds had even returned from their honeymoon, I'd begun to backslide.

Friends have called and have invited me to hang out. I've been given plenty of opportunities to practice jumping beyond what has been - and I haven't taken any of them. I can't explain it. I feel stuck again and all I want to do is hide. I feel tired. Despite what my mind is saying, how it "wants" to do this and that, in the actual moment of choice, I'm struck with a psychic paralysis that keeps me from doing what my most ambitious self would have me do.

Frankly, I'm a little pissed about all of this inner struggle. I'm feeling a little sorry for myself at the moment. I'm feeling a little defective. But the truth is, I'm being extremely lazy about it, disregarding all of the wisdom I have at my disposal, folding my arms as if I were powerless to see it another way - when I know that's not the case. My bad.

I have the recent memories of how sweet it is when I actually do venture outside my front door. So the spark is still there; it isn't gone. But that doesn't mean it's being kindled.

happenings v

2011-05-26T19:12:00.000-05:00

i.
Sitting on the toilet, I fall in to a reverie as I watch branches and their leaves dance on the bathroom floor, shadows coming in through the window.

ii.
In a rare instance of retaliation, I push a boy that I feel has wronged me off of a small concrete platform at the entrance of our school, and in to a bush. He gets up, crying. I feel terrible, but go inside to find my mother and pretend like nothing's happened.

iii.
Once I discover The Mary Tyler Moore Show, I proceed to watch all released seasons on DVD, wishing that I could have been an independent working girl that hung out with the fictitious Mary and Rhoda in 1970s Minneapolis.

iv.
As I slather on butter and add a mixture of cinnamon and sugar to the already cinnamon-sugary Cinnamon Crunch Bagels that I got from Panera, I wince at my unhealthy glee and tell myself, "This is SO not right."

v.
Watching the finale to The Oprah Winfrey Show, I'm listening to, and am moved by, her beautiful words - definitely in touch with that reverent feeling for all of Life - until I notice a flying bug pass through the kitchen. By reflex, I jump up for the fly swatter and chase after it, ending it's little (but sacred) life on the window sill.

vi.
Driving home from my brother's band concert, the eerie, darkening skies, the falling rain and hail, together with radio voices warning of nearby tornadoes, both frightens and exhilarates.

vii.
With my mother and father up front, my brother and I ride in the attached camper on our way to Tennessee. One of my favorite parts of the journey is having a reason to talk to one of them, as it gives me an excuse to open the little window between the cab and camper. Loving the sound and feel of rushing wind between.

viii.
In a book of spells, I find one that's designed to cause another person to call you on the phone for whatever your intended reason. As a test, I carefully follow the directions, intending my friend to simply call and ask for the time. Twenty minutes later, the phone rings and it's her, asking me what time it is right off the bat. Amazed, I start to laugh and ask her why she called to ask me that. She pauses and says, "I don't know. There's a clock right here."

ix.
A guy I've only been out with once asks me to accompany him to the laundromat while he dries his clothes. Having never been to such a nice laundromat before, I'm surprised by the size and cleanliness of it. While not exactly comfortable with the guy, I find the ambiance so pleasing - relaxing, even - that it more than makes up for the minor awkwardness. With all of the interesting people to observe and TVs going and fans blowing, I genuinely wish he'd brought more loads of laundry.

x.
Disgusted by my lack of direction, I curse myself for not getting on with things. I complain to myself that there should be a job or a degree for how I spend my days. I can see the plaque on my wall: a Ph.D. in "Resting on One's Laurels."

xi.
In the computer lab, I lean too far back in my chair and lose my balance, falling to the floor. I am surprised at how uncharacteristically not-embarrassed I am by this.

xii.
Walking along a hospital corridor, I smell a fragrance that I instantly recall as the perfume my Theater Arts teacher used to wear years ago.

xiii.
On a remote Illinois farm, I step outdoors once the moon has risen and am struck by the stillness. I begin to understand what night, and quiet, can be.

xiv.
Despite my fondness for our kind, soft-spoken Geometry teacher, when the class gets out of control, I too, join my friends at the front of the room and begin jumping-rope.

xv.
Lying on the couch in the dark of my uncle's unfamiliar front room, I can't help but notice a shadowy figure that while I know probably isn't a person, really looks like a person, and appears to be staring at me, creepy and unmoving. When the lights are turned on, my potential assailant is revealed to be a coat rack.

xvi.
I call out to my aunt's dog, "Good girl, good girl! Hi! How are you!? You sweet girl! Hi!" It amuses me how she doesn't even lift her head, and how I imagine she's inwardly rolling her eyes at me for talking to her in such a dumb, high-pitched voice.

xvii.
I love the chilled air smell of the grocery store freezers so much that I linger with the door open, feigning indecision over the selection of microwave meals.

xviii.
At the mall, I'm approached by a gypsy who convinces me to play a curious game involving a little rubber ball and a Styrofoam cup. Not understanding his instructions, I break one of the rules, and without warning, am punched in the face - jolting me back in to wakefulness, where I'm lying in my bed.

ixx.
After getting on the wrong bus and aimlessly riding around for awhile, I get off at a random stop and begin to wander around the modest, nearby shopping center. On a whim, after coming across a salon, I decide to cut and bleach my hair. As I enter, I encounter an acquaintance of mine from middle school who winds up being my assigned stylist. After my cut, we go outside and catch up; among other things, she tells me that she's pregnant. Soon after that, she asks to bum a cigarette - and reluctantly, I give her one. As she continues on with the conversation, I'm silently apologizing to her innocent fetus.

xx.
Waiting to board the plane on the jetway, an attractive man stands in front of me. I repeatedly envision the grabbing of his chest from behind, pulling him to me, grinding up against him, kissing his neck and smelling his hair.

xxi.
After years of trying to find a high school friend, hoping that she'd eventually show up online someday, I'm told by a friend that she passed away of cancer several years before. I'm incredibly saddened. I almost cry, but don't.

the 2nd 90 days

2011-05-22T19:15:00.001-05:00

One of the things I love about blogging is the accountability factor. One of the things I hate about blogging is the accountability factor.

My second block of 90 days came to an end earlier this month, and I have yet to really get going on my third. While I've not gained back any of the weight that I lost during the first 90 days, I've not lost any either. What can I say? There are no excuses. What it boils down to is that food is probably my greatest cross, and I wasn't able to rise to the occasion this go around. Folding my arms and saying, "It's hard," is easier than getting off my ass and breaking a sweat. Wandering around entranced by my "I'm addicted" storyline is easier (Really? Is that true? Can I absolutely know that this is true?) than opening up to new ways of eating and approaches to food. I have the tools, so what's up?

This isn't over by a long shot. I'm not giving up. I've just come to touch base. To put it out there, to remind myself that every day and every moment is a chance to start over and choose again...

down freedom's main line

2011-05-20T22:57:00.000-05:00

This evening I finally watched the PBS documentary on the famous Freedom Riders of the Civil Rights Movement that I heard about on Oprah a couple of weeks ago. I'm not sure if I can find a better way to sum up the film's impact on me other than by saying, "Wow." Historically, I've been a very timid person, shrinking from confrontation if I can help it, so whenever I see or hear stories of people standing up for themselves, for what they know is right - in spite of their fears - I can't help but be drawn to them. And impressed. And inspired.

A perfect example of this kind of courage was the group of mostly young people in 1961, both men and women, black and white, that decided to challenge segregation laws by riding Greyhound and other bus lines in to the south, non-violently defying the divisive customs, demanding equal treatment for everyone. They were beaten, bloodied, jailed - but new groups of riders sprang up to take their place and ultimately their collective efforts proved victorious. It's an amazing story and watching the documentary, seeing the people that lived it and seeing all the footage of the kinds of hatred and violence they were up against, makes their bravery all the more clear to me. And all the more moving. I thank God for these kinds of people in the world, in whatever the situation may be, the kind that help shake the world awake, who follow that Spirit, who bravely step in for the afraid and the blind.

Here's a preview of the already-released documentary and a clip from Oprah's show celebrating the Freedom Riders' 50th anniversary:

ours is the one show

2011-05-18T22:29:00.000-05:00

Someone recently mentioned to me how great the season finale was to one of their favorite TV shows - and how many people on their Facebook page had commented, saying the same thing. That some were even saying it was the best finale of any show, ever. The thing is, when you know that a show's returning in the fall and the cliffhanger leaves the characters you care about in some precarious, dramatic situation - while it's entertaining to watch - oftentimes it doesn't leave room for much question. We might not know exactly how they'll get out of their trouble (which I'd say is part of the fun), the fact that we know the show has been renewed for another season or that the actors have signed on for another season lets us know that the characters are ultimately going to be just fine - or the show wouldn't be able to continue.

It occurred to me how similar this is to Life. It occurred to me how much easier things could be if we (meaning I) approached the unfolding dramas of our personal lives in the same way we do the storylines on TV. Life, just as a television series, is meant to continue on; that is what it does. The characters must live their stories, say their lines, do what they do, and hopefully evolve. But no matter what twists or turns they encounter along the way, no matter how bleak or challenging their situations might become at times, the fact is, things don't remain the same ever after; there's always a new story arc coming 'round the bend. And the same is true of us: what is so for the fictitious character is just as true of the real-life human being. There is no mood, no relationship, no physical pain, no fear or circumstance that will forever keep on as it always has. So in those times we look at our life situation and we're wondering how it's going to turn out and we're nervous because we don't know which direction to take, in the moment we're facing some grave dilemma - perhaps even death - I think we'd do well to remember that despite our uncertainty, we cannot possibly keep from getting where we're going. Life will continue on just the way it should, and as eternal "actors" in the play of Lila - the unfolding of God - our roles may change, but our dramatic adventures and our opportunities for Soul-ness will never end. Even if we seem not to appear as "us" anymore, ours is the one show that will never get canceled. So when we are facing things we'd rather not, or are in the midst of things we don't understand, we could just decide to sit back and mellow out, to simply watch how the story develops in the same way we would a TV show, curious and with anticipation. No worries - just amused detachment - because really, there's not one twist of fate that keeps us from where we're going; it's the twists of fate that propel us to where we're going. There's no way to get it wrong. One season builds on another. There's no cliffhanger from which we won't triumphantly return. Change/Life/Source makes sure of it.

here's to new beginnings

2011-05-17T19:00:00.001-05:00

Married just over three weeks ago, Oliver and Simone are back now from their French Polynesian honeymoon - and from the pictures I've seen posted on Facebook, their time away was gorgeous. Simone has also recently been offered a new job, and will be starting that soon, so it's a time of new beginnings for my friend, and it's wonderful to watch - even if from the sidelines.

I've not written about their wedding before now because I tend to like things to settle in my mind a little bit before attempting to put them in to words, and with it being such an emotional event for me, that fact turned out to be even more the case - plus I'm just slow. I've thought a lot of that night, but haven't felt compelled to write about it yet, as I've just been savoring the memories when they've happened to appear. Truly though, the night of their wedding was one of the best of my life.

Equally as awesome as seeing Simone tie the knot, was reuniting with another of my best friends from back in the day - I'll call her Cody. Of all my friends, I've known her the longest. We met in seventh grade. She was a popular, cool kid, and as far as I could tell, had no business hanging out with the likes of me. So when we first started talking and laughing together in art class and she asked for my phone number, I was kind of suspicious. I gave her the number to the newspaper where my mother worked, knowing she'd just get a recording. But when she asked for it again the next day and I saw that she was sincere, I gave her the real one - and we ended up friends in no time. I've never laughed as hard or as much as I have with this girl. She's one of the weirdest, most beautiful, people that I know. And by weird, I just mean her sense of humor. She finds bizarre things funny like I do; we get each other that way. Recently out of the military, she's moved back to Dallas after being out of state and country for, I guess, it's been a decade. She's back now, though, and living with her boyfriend.

In my time of reclusion, my preferred way of staying in touch with my friends was through letter and email, but like most of my friends, Cody isn't too big on that, so we didn't always keep in touch as well as we could have. But now that we're "both" "back," we've been talking more, which I'm so glad about it. Although she and Simone weren't the closest of friends, they knew each other and had hung out before; they had me in common, which I'd say at the very least made them the best of acquaintances. I figured Cody would be the perfect date - and that going together would be a fun way for us to reunite.

She came over in late afternoon and after some hello's and having our pictures taken in the backyard, we went up to her parents house (whom I managed to keep in better touch with than I did Cody) and I got to see them again. Considering all of the time I spent there in high school, being in their house again after all these years was surreal - but very familiar, and very nice. On the car ride to the wedding and before the ceremony started, we laughed and talked. We walked down the old town's little main street, not far from where the wedding was taking place, and looked in a shop that sold, among other things, large piñatas. I was pleased - once again! - to see how our rhythm was pretty much the same, with her laughter stirring and sustaining mine - it was just the way it always has been.

With storm clouds in the distance, the wedding took place in a nearby town at a historical house that serves as both a bed and breakfast and place for holding receptions and special events. Simone, looking angelic, arrived in a horse-drawn carriage and was walked by her father down the aisle, which crossed the lawn where the guests were seated, and up to the steps and veranda where Oliver stood wiping away a tear or two. The reception took place in a connected hall and courtyard in the back. Cody with her beer and me my Chardonnay, around the grounds we walked and talked, eying the other guests. The newlyweds eventually appeared from a balcony above where they had their first dance and from where the bride threw her bouquet.

I said that their wedding night was one of the best nights of my life, and it's true - for the pure Love I felt all around me. Yes, I could mention the moments before Cody's arrival, how panicky I was to see her (and people) again, how displaced I felt - and even slightly taunted - by my strange, suit-wearing reflection. I could speak about the flashes of feeling and voice that told me I didn't belong. I could mention the minor dread I awkwardly sat through thanks to a stranger whom along with his family, randomly chose to sit at the same table as us, sizing us up with his probing, chit-chatty questions and intrusive gaze, made all the more remarkable appearing through his highly magnifying eye-glasses. And I could speak of how readily, easily I hit the bar. I could choose to focus on these things, but honestly, they don't deserve much thought, being only mere moments in an evening that was on the whole infused with happiness.

Far more worthy of my attention is all about the night that moved me - and with that, I could go on and on. What moved me was the bond I felt with Cody and how good it was to catch up with her and to hear about her life and love right now. What moved me was seeing Simone's sister and father, and mother again, whom I've written to over the years and who was especially glad to see that I chose to attend, how we hugged, how I told her the dark time was over now and how she agreed that darkness always disappears in to the Light if we'll but let it. What moved me was the courage(?) I had to introduce myself to a couple of Simone's friends, people I've heard about over the years - and the warm, kind reception they gave me, how they seemed genuinely glad to meet me too, the way they looked me in the eyes and how I was told how glad Simone would be that I was there. What moved me were all of the smiles and the palpable Connection radiating through space. What moved me was the way Simone sought me out in a room filled with so many people, to watch the slide show with her, and how I stood there beside her and her family as the images and music played. What moved me was being able after all of this time to meet and shake the hand of the man that means so much to this sister of mine. What moved me was the light rain and lightning that followed Cody and I on our drive home and how it lingered as we hung out at my house and talked. What moved me was knowing that I could do this, THIS. Life. Whatever this is. What moved me was how accepted and welcomed and lucky I felt. How loved I am.

During the ceremony, during the toasts, during my talk with Cody afterward - so many times over the course of the evening, I held back tears. My heart was swelling. When I got home and my fam asked me how it went, I'd open my mouth to speak, but couldn't get the words out without starting to tear up. I don't know if it was just sensory overload or what, but it was like Joy pulsing through my veins, Love being thrown at me from all directions. I'm not used to all of that. I did eventually let the tears fall - but only after Cody had left and it began to really rain.

I can only imagine what that night must have meant to Simone, but MY wedding night was amazing. The newlyweds aren't alone in having these new memories to cherish or in having many more to make.

just so we're crystal

2011-05-07T21:26:00.000-05:00

Just so we're clear: I don't know shit about shit. Sifting through, and finding order in, my own drama is hard enough - and I could so be doing a better job. If you think I think you're making the wrong choices or that you're even capable of doing wrong, I have to tell you that...you're wrong. :-) Because the truth is: I don't ultimately believe in "wrong." Or "right." I simply believe in choice and consequence, that's it. I believe in present moment What Is-ness. And as far as I can make out, the present moment does not allow for right or wrong, only the unfolding of Reality. Our mental stories are what make things appear otherwise.

Do I disagree with you sometimes? Yeah. But it doesn't mean anything. It isn't personal. It's only because I happen to be telling myself a different story than you are, and I allow myself to get overly invested, swept away. Sometimes I look at the choices you (or anyone!) make and I want to jump out of my chair and say, "No, no, no! Here, check this out. I've got a better idea, let me help you fix this!" And from the bottom of my heart, I'm so sorry for the times that has happened. And for the times I've sighed in frustration or rolled my eyes when something you said about your world or the people in it rubbed me the wrong way. All I can say is that I've temporarily fallen asleep. I've temporarily confused myself, mentally stepping in to your business, mistaken, thinking I could know better for your days than you do.

Please believe me when I say: I do not know better; I know that I do not know better. I'm sorry for acting like I think I do. In my best moments, at my most enlightened, I know that your life and those who are in it couldn't possibly be doing a more brilliant, beautiful job. I mean that. Maybe there are "problems" but there's nothing for me to "fix." There's nothing that I - or even you - need to change. Not unless you're just organically called to something on your own. The Universe is setting things up for all of us just right, so it's not for me to say what you should or should not be doing. I apologize that I don't always live that way. I'm sorry that I've made you feel like you're incapable or a failure, bless your heart - because there is nothing further from the truth. And in the future, should I step in to your business or offer "help" that wasn't asked for, just know that I've lost clarity for a spell, and that I'm sure to wake up again soon. I'll soon be clear, and able, to Love you again.

something wicked that way went

2011-05-06T15:56:00.000-05:00

I didn't lose anyone close to me during the terrorist attacks on 9/11. And as far as I know, no one that I am, or was, personally close to, lost anyone either. So I wasn't effected as deeply or traumatically as I could have been. But I was effected - in the same way that all human beings are when they witness violence being done to one another. There's a knot in your stomach when you're seeing first hand just how insane the human race (or - the collective human mind) can be. There's a feeling that crops up, saying, "This is not Right. What is happening here, what is being witnessed in this moment is not of the Most High God." The soul literally feels the disconnect from Source, and it's a scary, terrible feeling. It's one of separation and vulnerability. It's utter fear: the complete opposite of what we typically think God to be, and of what we hope our everyday life experiences will consist of.

I mention not losing anyone in the attacks because I want to make it clear that I have not felt that kind of pain, so my words can't help but come packaged in ignorance. I've not lost someone I'm close to because religious extremists from across the world have targeted my nation as "the enemy," successfully wiping out my loved ones with their hate. I don't know how that kind of loss feels and I admit that. So when a mastermind behind such an attack is murdered in that same kind of deliberate, ruthless fashion, and finally brought to what so many see as justice, I can't say I know how that feels either. I can imagine how that might make others feel better. I can see how that could spell relief. But at the end of the day, all I've got is my own perspective. And for me, when I first watched the celebrating masses of people, thrilled by the murder of said mastermind, I got that same frightening feeling I did ten years ago when I saw those planes crashing in to buildings, and the cheers that followed in far away countries. I felt that same kind of sick, curious energy that says, "Something isn't Right here."

As some days have passed and I write about it now, my initial troubled reaction at the excitement that others have felt has lessened. It can't feel personal to me or "untoward" because I've kept in mind that we're all living out of our individual dreams. And the truth is, when humans are happy, they celebrate. It doesn't matter what they're excited about, it's just what they do. And whether we call each other "friend" or "enemy," we're all just people believing whatever story we've got running in our own particular heads or culture. It isn't right or wrong. And I can't know to comment on their individual hearts anyway.

I'm not saying dude didn't get what he deserved. After all he would have destroyed not only an entire nation but a way of life in this world, and not flinch, if given the chance - and he damn well tried, with a smile on his face. Clearly the man was evil. But the piece of God, that particular stream of Life that gave rise to the man called Osama bin Laden, was not.

Our hatreds and prejudices and selfish deeds may not be as pronounced or on display as his were, but they are there and they are just as fucked up and just as real as his were. He was a man believing his thoughts, believing himself to be right - just like every single person on this planet does every single day. We are believing our thoughts or we aren't. Some are more dangerous and lead to more violence than others, granted. And in that sense, we're no less wicked than he was. But wicked isn't even the right word. Wickedness and evil and fear - they're all just different words for confused. They're all just symptoms of blindness to the Grace we're living in this moment.

I'm not saying that he didn't deserve to be shot in the face. But I'm not saying that he should have been either. Nor am I saying people are wrong to want to celebrate. None of it is my place to say. It's Life's. I'm just noticing how it felt to me, that's all. I just wonder. I just think it's important for us to keep our hypocrisy in check. Because that tendency to judge others as worse or less than is in every last one of us, and it can get more than a little out of line. It's just the nature of the human mind.

Does hating him bring back the lives that were lost that day? Or any life that's been lost in retaliation since? Does it bring peace or healing to the nervous systems of the bodies of those who carry on that hatred? Is goodness served by cursing or celebrating another person's wickedness or demise? I'm just asking. It's worth taking a look at, I think. Which is more beneficial? Pointing our fingers and mentally crucifying the evil among us? Or might our time be better spent looking at those parts of ourselves that are, if not in degree, exactly the same in nature, as the parts we curse in our enemies?

This hated man is dead now. I hope that those who celebrate are truly finding comfort in it. I hope that they find the closure they've been looking for. I hope that if patriotism springs up from all this, it's held on to. I hope the souls whose lives were cut short by this man and his minions have found peace. And I hope that his soul will find peace as well. Not because the person, Osama bin Laden, deserves it - because he doesn't. No egoic mind does; no human personality is that transcendent. But every Soul is. And every soul deserves forgiveness and a return to Peace. His does. And ours do.

smile-type thoughts

2011-05-01T19:22:00.000-05:00

I have been given the "Stylish Blogger Award" from my friend, Tracy, author of Cooked Heads - a blog that if you haven't yet checked it out, go ahead and do. It's humorous and rich, and makes me smile every time I visit. Hers is one of the precious few blogs that I have in my Reader - and that is so for a reason. Quite a few reasons, actually. So go check it out and you'll soon have plenty of your own!

Though my blog isn't about "style," with "stylus" as a base, she felt confident in passing the award over to me, anyway - and I truly appreciate it. Assuring the recipients there's nothing we need to do in order to accept it, other than hopefully think "smile" type thoughts, I wanted to respond anyway. It could be called the "Stylish Blogger Award" or "Randall" or "Juanita" - it just doesn't matter - because any award that I'm given, the way I see it, comes from, and is all about, spreading the love. They usually come with different rules (or suggestions?) for accepting, though I never quite follow them. Instead, like I'm doing now, I direct people to the blogs on my "Favorites" list and tell you that they are the ones that I read and love and feel are worthy of countless awards. And our time.

Thank you, Tracy! Just so you know, with or without an award, Cooked Heads (or your life/adventure/party/trip - Spirit! - in other words) never fails to bring me smile-type thoughts. That's just what you do.

Rule/Suggestion:

Seven factoids about yours truly:

1. I like crushed ice.

2. I wear size 11 tennis shoes.

3. Often I will claim that I don't like a food I've never even tried.

4. I have an oscillating fan blowing on me pretty much year round, regardless of the temperature.

5. Someone I knew in elementary school, that I wasn't particularly close to, has been a recurring character in many spiritually significant dreams that I've had over the past 20 years.

6. I loved Nick at Nite in the early- to mid-90's. I stayed up late at my dad's on the weekend and would watch all those classic shows from back in the day: Patty Duke, Bewitched, Dobie Gillis, Donna Reed, Dick Van Dyke, Mister Ed, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, Green Acres, etc.

7. Eyes closed, right before sleep, is my favorite time of day.

redemption at the gay bar

2011-04-28T21:23:00.000-05:00

After my first (let's call it eventful!) Oak Lawn night out, I knew that I'd eventually be returning for a do-over. Not that a do-over is what I was after exactly. Because it wasn't...not exactly. A do-over implies there needs to be something corrected or that what took place initially was somehow flawed - and I don't believe that it was. Sure, it wasn't my finest hour, but it certainly wasn't my worst, and the truth of it is: I had a really good time! I guess what I wanted was just another chance to see what I could do, another chance to see what's what "out there." So I've adopted the stance that all of this new "stuff" I'm feelin' out - as well as the old stuff that I'm approaching from a hopefully wiser perspective - is just an experiment of sorts, or a game. Moments in time that I should use for joy, as a way to charm and amuse myself - with no worries. Just experiencing what I experience, noticing what takes place - and then deciding who I am and what's true for me in relationship to that.

So when Silas and I hooked up last Friday night, we both thought it would be fun to give "the strip" another go. And aside from a few cracks at watching what I drink, he honestly didn't seem all that anxious or expectant of the worst. That first night had clearly been let go of and he was there just for the fun of it - which usually seems to be the case with him. Quite the guru I have in my corner!

I admit that I was nervous again...and that I drank again. I sought out that good ol' "liquid courage." (Not really a fan of that phrase, though. In my opinion, ultimate courageousness would have been facing things completely sober - but whatevs; I got no qualms; baby steps are all I'm taking. It is what it is.) The good news is: this time I used my beverages as servings of "liquid lighten-up" in lieu of last time's "liquid dumbass." I spaced them out and managed to stay contently buzzed. And I had a blast! Silas told me later that if he hadn't known me, he would never have suspected my shy nature, as, from the corner of his eye, he "watched me do my thing." He says that I have a charisma he thinks I've begun to tap in to. I don't know about that. All I know is that I had a lovely time chatting with strangers, and how remarkable and cool I think it is that we got some phone numbers, and how we laughed! The alcohol does make it easier to slip out of the story that "I am different," or "I am nervous." It frees me up to engage with the person in front of me instead of the story that locks me up and keeps me separate. But it's a fine line, drinking. If you go too far, yes, it can take away the anxiety, but it can also wipe out your good qualities too - like the ability, and desire, to stay present with the people you're with, for instance; the ability to listen and be there. It really is about keeping light and loose. For me, the point is to help me connect - not disappear. And I can see that difference now. I like to think, though, that eventually I won't even feel the urge to rely on that.

But in the meantime, I'm cool. It's all getting easier and I just can't say how exciting this is. I feel like I've redeemed myself not only with my queer brethren strangers, but with Silas.

I know I have with me.

facebook: my own private idaho

2011-04-22T15:52:00.000-05:00

It's been about a week now since I signed up on Facebook, and I've been feelin' it out, trying to see if we're gonna get along or not - and I think we are. When I first signed up, now more open to connecting with people, I started searching for everyone from the past and wanting to see everything about everything. But now - yeah, not so much. It didn't take me long to get sucked in and then to realize that there's just way too much to engage with. And I've noticed that "everything about everything" doesn't necessarily want to engage with me either! So it works out.

I've decided to approach my Facebook page as an extension of my head or heart or house. It's a sanctuary. It's a place to hang out. It's my own private Idaho where I can come and rendezvous with things, ideas, and people that are special to me.

At first I was both sending and receiving "friend" invitations from people way back that I hardly knew. I genuinely tried to connect with them as best I could, especially the ones that were important to me, but we weren't connecting or sharing with each other. It didn't feel good; it felt false, contrived - so I deleted them. In the same way that I don't hold on to superfluous things, and in the same way that I try my best not to nurture feelings or thoughts that don't enrich my life in some way, I don't want a collection of "friends" that I hardly know or whom aren't already anchored in my heart to begin with (the people I know my world is a better place because of).

I don't need - or even really want - to talk to all my loved ones every day. But I adore signing in and seeing that they are there, all the people that I love gathered in one place, and knowing that we can connect with each other when we want to, when it feels right. I love seeing the pictures of my friends and family, just as if they were hanging on my bedroom "wall." I love that we're able to play online games together. I love that I can see all of the posts that they leave, and the way they share with everyone what's important to them - what they "like," and what's going on in their lives, regardless of whether it's considered "big" or "small."

In my opinion, this is all too special for me to be letting just anybody in.

Yeah, Facebook's a pretty cool deal. Took me awhile to get around to signing up. But pretty sure I'm gonna stick around.

long time sun

2011-04-20T22:46:00.000-05:00

A friend wished this for me - and I wish this for You.

crappiness, averted

2011-04-20T18:21:00.001-05:00

Saturday afternoon, I'd planned on taking the light rail to Mockingbird Station and choosing a random film to see at the Angelika, as a fun way of having a night out by myself. Yeah, I'd also planned on stopping off at an earlier station to say "hello" to a nearby Silas before going on to the theater - but for the most part, the night was just going to be me out alone - something I was looking forward to.

I'd asked Grams earlier in the afternoon if she'd drive me (and my aunt to pick me up) to the Spring Valley station where I could catch the train - but by the time I'd finished my meditation, took a shower, and was ready to go, time was ticking. And thanks to my poor time management, I found myself rushed. I'd waited too long to check the prices for both the DART day pass and the movie ticket, as well as the schedule to see just how long I'd have with Silas before having to make my way down the line. I couldn't find exact change anywhere in the house and on top of that I was still going to have to make it to the station on time - and I love Grams, no question, but the woman's not the quickest driver in the world, I'll put it that way. As I was sitting in the passenger seat still in the garage getting ready to go, I realized we just weren't going to make it in time. And it pissed me off. I wasn't upset with Grams, of course. But with myself. And at the situation I've year after year brought in to being. And at the fact that at almost 30 years old, I can't go out without having to dig around for change or bum a ride from my grammy. I was so irritated that I just hopped out of the car and said I'd be back later, headed down the alley, and went toward the park.

I'd already mentally prepared myself for the energy of others that night and I didn't want that, or my spritz of cologne, to go to waste - so I thought that this would be a great time to text my friend - I'll call her Emily - and see if she wanted to hang out. She's one of the precious few I've been wanting to see for ages and I knew that if anyone could help raise my spirits, it would be her. Actually, I had just asked her the day before about sometime soon scheduling to go and observe her Montessori class. But considering how key the spontaneity factor had been in my reunion with Emre, I reasoned that it should serve she and I just as nicely. She was at a barbecue, but told me that if I felt another burst of spontaneity later in the evening to let her know, she'd be free.

Literally within moments of stepping on to the walking trail, I began to feel easier about things. The weather was nice and the setting far too affable to stay stuck in self-pity. Whenever I'm in that kind of environment, I find there's just too much Life buzzing around that it's difficult to even consider not taking part. So I did: I walked and breathed, watched and listened, smelled and paid attention.

I found the perfect spot on a hill to sit and look across the pond, where eventually I decided to take my evening meditation. I soon discovered it was a popular stretch of grass, as ducks and children began to gather. The "AYAM" was joined by the quacking of ducks (and the quacking that followed as the children mimicked the ducks) - And the sound of the children's laughter as they rolled down the hill, despite the cries of their parents warning them not to for fear they'd roll right in to the water. There was the sound of the children chanting "First is the worst, second is the best, third is the one with the hairy chest." I returned to the mantra over and over - but still...I welcomed it all.

As I walked home, I knew that I wasn't ready for the night to be over, so I texted Emily again. And while until Saturday we hadn't spoken or seen each other since a little after high school, I'd say that she's the soul I've connected with most these past couple of years, as we've texted and emailed at least every few days.

While I was waiting for her to drive over, I excitedly noticed how not nervous I was. Maybe there was a speck of something floating around inside - if it could even be called that. And I imagined that this speck, this harmless little nothing, must be what a "normal" person must feel when they experience what's known as "nervous." Something large enough to be noticed, a case of your brain telling the nervous system that something out of the ordinary is going down, but small enough where it couldn't possibly paralyze you or keep you from proceeding.

She soon pulled up in front of my grandmother's house and we hugged, and then immediately began our walk around the neighborhood. Conversation went back and forth, stream-of-consciousness style, consoling and entertaining at the same time. It was as wonderful as it could have been! Just like my first two reunions before it, this one was just as energizing. And possibly even richer I could say, since we'd been in touch already and for so long. As far as I'm concerned, this was just the first of many evenings with Emily.

I love how the evening began with my thinking I knew what I was going to do - and how once again, Life stepped in, redirecting me to something It knew I'd revel in more. So kind it is. So forgiving of my forgetful disapprovals.

a night-walk reunion

2011-04-14T11:26:00.002-05:00

After all of these years, Simone and I finally met up again this past Saturday night - and it was so wonderful. Just like my reunion with Emre, this one was just as seamless and just as sweet.

She drove over mid-evening and after coming in and saying "hello," we left for our walk to the nearby park. (Yeah, it's true: we all know me and walks in parks - my favorite!) It was a really nice night - which we've been given a lot of lately! - and lots of people were out enjoying it. Some were playing tennis and some were out walking on the trails. There were a few groups of people, and ducks, sprinkled around the park, hanging out and talking, diggin' on the warm spring night like us.

The familiarity of my friend was very reassuring. She's been asking me to hang out for years - and as we embraced when she first arrived, and as we walked and talked over the hours, and as we sat at the little table in the Starbucks right up past the park and laughed, and as we sat back at home in the backyard swing and looked at pictures - I wondered to myself how I ever could have been afraid to see this person that I recognized as a soul-friend so long ago. I wondered what took me so fucking long.

Not only do I look forward to attending her wedding, I look forward to more of this laughter, more of these walks, and more of these nights. They're so long overdue and so long in the making, Lord knows.

raw, courageous heart

2011-04-06T19:00:00.000-05:00

This is one of the most powerful examples of The Work - and raw, brilliant, courageous Love - that I've ever seen. May we all live this awesome woman's Heart. Thank you, my dear, dear sister. I don't have the words.

rsvp

2011-04-04T15:38:00.001-05:00

Saturday, I sent off my RSVP for Simone's and Oliver's wedding. I said I'd be there. Indicated 2 guests. So, apparently I'm going. And apparently, I'm going to ask someone to go as my date. At first I imagined that just getting myself to go alone would be task enough, but as time passes and Experience encourages me to reconsider things, I've been thinking it would be more fun - and enriching - to have someone accompany me. I've had an idea of who I might ask, but I want to wait and feel Simone out a little bit before I actually invite my intended.

I have to admit, I'm kind of excited! As I sit and think about it from the safe distance of a little under three weeks away, I'm looking and I can't find any nervousness right now. All of the trepidation I've felt is nowhere to be found. If it comes, it comes. But for now, I'm genuinely happy just watching the visions that appear every now and then of my beautiful friend as she walks down the aisle.

full moon as my witness (pt. 2)

2011-04-04T01:00:00.000-05:00

...and the longer I walked, the more I felt that way.

Earlier in the evening while waiting on Silas, I'd spied the great, orange moon as it crept above the trees - and I texted everyone, wanting them all to see it too. During my walk, I turned my phone back on and saw that I had gotten some replies. One of them was from my best friend and first (unrequited) love - I'll call him Emre. We texted back and forth and as it turned out, he wasn't too far from my neighborhood, returning home from a date himself. He asked if I wanted to hang out for a little while. "Now?" I asked. And yeah, it was a great night, so why not...?

Brief panic shot through my body then - but he'd asked without warning and told me to tell him quick because he was soon turning home. The spontaneity of it robbed me of my customary stewing process that I habitually use to freak myself out with. I didn't have time to entertain the mind and indulge whatever crazy stories it would try spinning about how seeing this person that I love could possibly be a bad thing. It wasn't just the lack of time though; I was feeling a little braver than usual. A touch more bold. I'd just faced my fear of a charming stranger earlier that evening and it had turned out great, so I had a feeling that this would turn out well too. So I said "sure."

He picked me up and we drove the few streets over to my house and parked in the driveway out back. We probably talked for a couple of hours. Straightaway we were laughing like old times, as if the eight years since we'd seen each other had only been a month or two. He showed me pictures on his cell phone, we laughed, we caught up. The details of how our lives have unfolded in these years were unknown to each other at first, but it clearly didn't keep the essence of our us-ness from pulsing - and that was a very cool thing to realize. Honestly, sharing those details was just a secondary treat compared with simply seeing him again.

This is a person I have loved since I was 14 years old. For about the first ten years I was romantically enraptured by him, but of course with his being straight, our connection could never lend itself to more than friendship - a fact that would often drive me mad; a fact that I'd often bemoan and ache. It was so hard for me to accept that his friendship was all he'd ever be willing or able to give me, that so much of the time I missed out on the awesome love that he did give me - and he did. His love for me wasn't always expressed in the ways that I wanted it to be, but oh my god, what he had to give me, he gave me. Right up there next to Grams, the dude's one of the closest things I've known to a saint. Emre was actually the last person I hung out with and the last person I said goodbye to before I went away, so it's kind of circular and fitting that he'd be the first one I see as I return...if indeed that's what I'm doing...

It was a big and special night. I met and made a new friend and reunited with an old one - two scenarios that, in the years of my seclusion, I'd feared would be terrifying, and in my worst moments, improbable...and yet...

...here I am.
Here we are.

book meme

2011-03-31T18:39:00.000-05:00

I've been tagged for a book meme by Suzanne, the author of Autism Mom Rising. I don't usually read more than one book at a time, so these include the one I'm reading now as well as those I have recently read and plan to very soon.

Here are the rules:

1. Take a picture of the books you are reading currently and add them to your post.

2. Describe the books and if you are enjoying them.

3. For every book you are reading, you have to tag one person.

4. Leave the person a comment letting them know you tagged them.

Here are the rules I'll obey: =)

1. Take a picture of the books you are reading currently and add them to your post.

2. Describe the books and if you are enjoying them.

The first one, which I'm currently reading, is called Journey to Self-Realization by Paramahansa Yogananda, author of Autobiography of a Yogi. Basically, it's a collection of talks he gave throughout the first half of the 20th century. From the outside of the cover: "In this new anthology...Yogananda offers enlightening counsel to all who are seeking to better understand themselves and their true purpose in life. To the myriad complexities of human experience he brings a broad and universal perspective, opening before us a far-seeing vision of who we are and where we are going. For every question or crossroads on the path, he provides answers and insights to help us choose rightly." It's full of excellent reminders - I'm diggin' it.

This second book is one I've actually read a few times and have written about my experiences with before. Spinal Breathing Pranayama: Journey to Inner Space is but one book in the series of Advanced Yoga Practices by Yogani. All of these guides to different yoga practices are powerful and do bring results that even I, as a beginner, can personally attest to. All of Yogani's materials are clear and easy to understand. I'm a big fan. Now that I've recommitted to my yoga practice, I've been doing the deep meditation for a couple of months now, and am just about ready to add spinal breathing to my daily routine again - so I'll be consulting it again soon. I consider the AYP writings to be the most valuable books I own.

The next book is called Skinny Thinking and is written by Laura Katleman-Prue. I am continuously returning to this one. I've had a tumultuous relationship with food all of my life, and the thought patterns I hold with regards to food are not the healthiest - and this is the best book I've ever read on approaching, and healing, these crippling, dysfunctional thoughts .

Since my readings with Renu, I've been fascinated with Hindu astrology and have been wanting to learn more. Beneath a Vedic Sky by William R. Levacy is a good introductory book that gives one a taste of the subject - and I'd recommend it to anyone that is interested in finding out more. It's such a complicated topic to try and pin down, but I think Mr. Levacy does a great job of covering what he can in this particular format. His knowledge of the subject is apparent and as soon as I'm able, I'm going to schedule a reading with him.

Let's just face it: I'm clueless about fashion and have absolutely no idea how to begin dressing like an adult. And this last book is filled with tons of tips and information that help guys just like me make sense of all this crap. It does its job well.

sunlight on leaves

2011-03-28T21:56:00.002-05:00

It's the middle of the evening as I'm climbing the steps to the light rail platform for the first time in years, and I gradually begin hearing the sound of arguing voices. A woman's in particular. With a male's getting a few words in edgewise. I call Silas and tell him that I'm nervous. I tell him to tell me that I'm cool, that everything is fine, that a short fifteen minute ride to Mockingbird station is no big deal. Passengers waiting for the train are eying the fighting couple (the woman is now waving her arms all around...do these people even know each other?) wondering what they might say or do next. I stand off to the side, thankful for the distraction. Hanging up the phone as the train pulls up and the doors slide open, I find and take a window seat.

The inside of the train is nice and cool, which is soothing to my hot face. I determinedly start trying to calm myself down with slow, deep breaths and the questioning of my fearful thoughts. My attention shifts back and forth from my line of inner questioning to the sound of a woman behind me speaking loudly in Spanish on her cell phone, to the view out the window and my noticing of all the buildings and construction that's risen up in the time since I last took this train. I do make inner strides at calming down. I tell myself that all is well; yes, it's hard right now; yes, it sucks that I'm not able to relax and enjoy the scenery, but that really, I'm right on schedule, that this is to be expected. Even if I have to do this a million more times, eventually, there will come that one time in which the struggle will cease, and I'll have mastered this anxiety. This thought does bring me comfort.

When I get off at Mockingbird, I walk around the parking lot, waiting for Silas to pick me up. It's Friday night and everyone in the city is out for a good time. The traffic is humming. People exit the buses and come from nearby apartments, etc., heading for the neighboring cluster of restaurants and Angelika theater. Some in groups. Some alone, with seeming confidence. I watch all of them with both admiration and resentful envy. "This used to be me. I used to ride this train downtown every morning to work - and loved it. I used to meet friends here and hang out. I used to have Friday night plans without having to center myself with calming breaths. I didn't have to sit mindfully, while nervous energy coursed through my body. WTF?!" How did I get this way?!" As Silas arrives, I have a good little tantrum going and am on the verge of tears.

Earlier I decided that tonight will be the night I go out with Silas somewhere "among the people." With he being more social and outgoing, much more a part of the "gay scene," I tell myself that I'll follow his lead as best I can. Sweet Silas, so patient with me, and kind. Holding my hand, he gives me a tour of the main strip and points out the different bars and restaurants. I finally summon the courage to enter my first gay bar (and just for clarification, it's not the gayness of it that's alarming to me, it's the people and bar-ness of it that's alarming to me). We take a seat at the bar and I focus on Silas, trying to mellow. He tells me a ghetto-cloaked version of the "The Three Little Pigs" to make me laugh and calm me down. I have a few drinks, convinced that this would be so much more fun for both of us if I could just hurry and loosen up.

After awhile we head to another bar, and this one I take an immediate liking to. We head upstairs to an outdoor patio with a balcony looking down on the street below. I like the music, the smell of cigarette smoke (as a former smoker, in small doses, I still enjoy it's pungent, cancerous scent) the view, the warmth of the night. I feel more comfortable here. I have a few more drinks. As I'm talking to Silas, I ask him something about a friend of his and kind of laughing, he corrects me, telling me that I keep saying his friend's name wrong. I realize now that I'm drunk or quickly on my way. I tell myself, "I should stop; I've had enough; I've loosened up; I can look around the room at everyone and not tense up - mission accomplished. Now just have fun. Just enjoy the moment." And I do - so much so that I decide to celebrate with another drink!

Silas sees someone he knows from before, and soon I find myself in the middle of a lovely conversation. People gather around and I just think they are the nicest people in the world. Some part of me, floating above thinks, "This is so much fun. Here I am at a bar. A place where adults come and socialize. I'm here with them and I'm having a conversation with people that I do not know, but nevertheless are smiling at me and being kind. What is it here that I always imagine ahead of time is so scary?" I find myself walking around the patio, bumming cigarettes from people, giving men lingering stares without hesitation. I'm terribly excited! Effusively, I let them know how I look forward to Silas's friend's birthday party and how much fun I know we'll have when we meet again.

We say our goodbyes to my new best friends and walk across the street to meet up with one of Silas's friends who has texted and said he's nearby. We walk in the door and I head straight for the bartender and Silas asks me to please stop...but I don't. I then head to the restroom before we go to meet his friend, while Silas waits outside for me. After washing my hands, I exit the other door, oblivious to the waiting Silas on the other side. I rush in to the crowd of strangers and mingle. I meet a pretty blonde woman with a cute southern accent. I meet an older man who I learn has a crush on someone he's been eying for months without speaking to, and I excitedly ask him to point him out, intending to step in and play matchmaker. I stop a cute young man in a cowboy hat, and ask him what cologne he's wearing and tell him how brave I think he is for coming here alone and dancing with strangers. I talk with a guy and his killer smile, who tells me that he's in Dallas for business and invites me to come by his group later and say "hi." I enthusiastically agree, knowing that I probably won't. When I make it to the bar, I introduce myself to a young woman and I begin telling her all kinds of personal information that looking back I'll realize, she probably couldn't have cared less about, but who very nicely converses with me anyhow. She gives me words of wisdom and encourages my self-respect, telling me there is nothing I need to be but myself, etc. I'm getting her phone number and thanking her for being so kind, tears of gratitude in my eyes - when all of a sudden a furious Silas shows up demanding to know where I've been and why I just wandered off. He tells me how he's been calling and texting me over and over again. How he's been looking for me, and how worried he's been and how he'd just been about to leave. His anger startles me so much and feeling that everyone must be watching, I start to cry. He walks me out and apologizes to the people I start trying to talk to or bump in to along the way.

We're on the car ride home and he hardly wants to talk to or look at me; he's so upset. I'm crying, ashamed of myself for acting like such a dumbass. I ramble on and on, feeling sorry for myself. As Silas drops me off, I'm convinced that I'll never be seeing him again.

When I get home, I log on to the dating site where I met Silas and I send a message to a guy who has contacted me quite a few times in the past, to see if he was busy and wanted to hook up. Less than an hour later, I'm in a stranger's apartment, drinking and smoking, and in this person's bed.

I got home an hour or two ago and am now freshly showered. The spring sun is out, and today is my aunt's birthday. From the passenger seat of her car on the way to get breakfast, my head leans on the headrest; feeling spent, I look out the window. Morning is here. I watch all the trees as we pass them by and fall in love with the incandescent yellow-green glow of the sunlight shining on, and through. the leaves. They stand so regally. So self-possessed and luminous. So here. right. now. There are no thoughts of storms come and gone. No mention of winter's cold or the darkness of the night before. They're far too busy, in reverence, receiving morning's light.

Seeing these trees reminds me of the state of grace we live in, and the truth of Byron Katie's words when she reminds us that the worst thing that's ever happened in this world has already taken place, and that the pain that we're living is always, always on its way out. I see that all of the disappointing things I did the night before are already gone, and that it's only in the judgment of them and the replaying of them in my mind that keeps them alive. Yes, I went out with the intention of demonstrating my best self, and instead resorted to the same kind of bullshit I pulled when I was 21. But now it's over. It's a new day. I live in this moment, this state of grace, where I'm eternally offered the power to choose again. This doesn't have to define me. The past - and that supposed "me" - live only in images. Angry Silas is nowhere to be found. My cheeks are dry, my nerves are calm. The cigarette smoke and fear have faded.

I'd been so tempted to beat myself up - but that too would have been something my 21-year-old self would have done. He wouldn't have seen the uselessness in that. He wouldn't have seen that the night is always over if we let it be.

But thankfully, I can see it - and this is progress.

for goodness' sake

2011-03-25T19:10:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite bloggers asked her readers today, "Why do you blog?" That's a question I've asked myself before and something I've thought of blogging about from time to time, so I thought I'd go ahead and do that today.

The answer in it's purest form is: because it's fun for me. Because it's just what I do. Words and I have been collaborative playmates since I was a child. I've been writing something or other all my life: little stories for school or poetry and journaling in my teens. I kept a journal from 16 to 25, and then a few years later started blogging on Myspace, sending letters and postcards to loved ones all the while. Partnering with words, using them to channel inner visions and thought-forms, arranging them in certain sequences that sound and express for me in ways I find pleasing - it's just something I'm compelled to do.

It's a magical thing, the way one is able to conjure "imaginary" worlds and express intangible feelings using this strange medium of arbitrary markings whose meanings, over thousands of years, have come to be agreed upon - it's very shocking when you look at it. These little symbols that have such power - and whom so humbly serve. Yeah, there's no question that language has its limits. But for what they are and for what they're capable of, they're amazing!

So why employ my word-love in the form of a blog? I guess it's just a cool place for me to come and re-live the moments I've known - for the fun of it, for the fact that I treasure many of the stories I tell and live by. I could just as easily write in a journal. But there's also a sense of accountability that comes with putting my thoughts and intentions out there. Putting them in to words brings them more in to the physical, increasing the chances of their manifestation in my thoughts and behaviors. It's also another avenue for me to practice honesty. And it's a place for me to redefine what matters to me, to reaffirm for me the wisdom I was blessed with in the letting go of certain things, and the reveling in the never-ending impulse to move onward.

By sharing my Heart with the world in this format, I'm drawn to others that are doing the same thing. Friends have appeared that I didn't even know were out there. And while this blog deal is ultimately for me, that others have come to read what I have to say, and in some cases maybe gotten something from it - and that I've received from them, is the sweetest of icing on the cake.

It's where I explore and make friends with the Good. The innumerable facets of joy and disquiet that It contains.

As far as I'm concerned, it's just another holy place.

As are all others. Why do I blog? For Goodness' sake.

full moon as my witness (pt. 1)

2011-03-23T16:15:00.001-05:00

With my friend Simone's wedding coming up, I figured it would be a great time to start an earnest attempt at mending my long-tattered social skills (and by that I mean practicing the ability to be around a group of people/strangers/anyone without reverting to my habitual patterns of thought that tell me, "There is something here to run from, there's something here I must avoid, there's something here I won't be able to handle." But I won't even lie - it's just as equally about wanting some male companionship in the worst way. I figured that this was a great time and excuse to work with, and put together, my two intentions - so I signed up with a dating site.

Surprisingly, and alarmingly, I've been eliciting more attention than I ever thought that I would. Not that I'm complaining. It's just that when I asked the Universe for some practice, I didn't realize that I'd be given so much so soon. Honestly, though, I love it. It's exactly what I want and feel ready for. Ready, meaning eager but apprehensive.

One gentleman in particular - I'll call him Silas - asked me out this past Saturday night. At first I said, "not yet," but the more we chatted, the more I felt comfortable with the idea, so I said yes...after he asked again. I'm so glad he asked again!

I can safely say that I've come to the point where I'm pretty much able, probably 90% of the time, to keep mindful of my intention to use all my experiences, big or small, as fuel for my spiritual practice. I don't think that there's any situation that doesn't have the potential to help wake someone up if they're open enough to using it. Not that it's always easy - but they are there and waiting for us just as soon as we can see.

Fortunately, I was gifted that awareness on Saturday. I had several hours before my first date in years, and fresh off the phone with him, my anxiety appeared. My chest tightened and my face grew hot. And the visions! The visions I had of all the awkward moments that could potentially take place! The visions of him finding out all the details of my situation and his subsequent getaway, his fleeing the scene without so much as a goodbye! The visions of my not being able to carry on an interesting, let alone coherent, conversation! The visions of him taking a look at me and my less-than-stellar physique and wondering aloud what the hell he was doing there, possibly even breaking in to laughter! On and on these images burbled in my mind.

But with Grace, I was able to stay present and investigate. Instead of trying to suppress my nervousness or make it go away, and instead of frantically searching for ways to distract myself, I simply let it be. I sat still and let the bodily sensations take over. I told them to go ahead and have at it. And it was very strange letting myself feel these uncomfortable feelings that I most always run from. They didn't go away, but as I watched from Awareness, the amount of suffering that is usually layered on top of those feelings, did. Becoming less identified with and judgmental of the sensations, unequivocally left me with a more comfortable experience of them.

I am nourished by the wind. I love the feeling of it blowing on my face and skin. I always have a fan nearby. In this case, I went and laid down on the floor of the hallway under the attic fan, as well as to the kitchen where there is a ceiling fan that can operate at a high speed. I took a chair from the kitchen table, sat directly under the fast-moving blades, and I summoned Byron Katie. Although she suggests that we write down our stressful thoughts, sometimes I'm happy with just questioning them in my mind. And here lately, I've found it helpful to bring Katie in to the room with me and we do The Work together on whatever it is that's plaguing me at the time. I did some good Work. Now, to a casual observer, it would have appeared that I was having a whispery conversation with the stove; actually, I was having a very enlightening dialogue with a wonderful friend. I'm able to hear her responses as I answer. I can hear her encourage the possibilities that lie beyond the story I'm so stuck in. I took the things I was afraid of and questioned them one by one. By the end, I was laughing at thoughts that not an hour ago I'd been frightened by. The potential Silas of my mind that had at first been a shallow, judgmental asshole, turned in to someone that I trusted would be an honest reporter of his experience, revealing himself as friend - regardless of his opinion of me. Just another example of Inquiry and allowance making all the difference!

We ended up driving around in his convertible (top down: wind!), eventually deciding on a nice little park in the gayborhood. We walked and talked and established a vibe. It was the perfect night for a first date. Warm and breezy, the big bright moon shining down. The nervousness returned while I was with him. It came in waves. And my occasional stammering and blushing gave me away every time. Apparently though, and luckily for me, some guys find this trait cute and endearing (hey, I prefer that story to mine!) - and Silas is one of them. All I could do was my best, and that's what I did. He made it so easy for me to be myself and I'm grateful to him for that.

We laughed, we shared stories, we kissed. The real-life version of Silas turned out to be a really cool guy and someone I hope to get to know more of as time goes on. He drove me back and let me out and I walked the neighborhood, reflecting on the time we'd had.

Up and down the streets I went, glowing in the moonlight. I was smitten, happy, but most of all proud...

more walkie, less talkie

2011-03-18T21:37:00.000-05:00

A little over a month ago, my friend Karen, author of Postcards from Nowhere, wrote about her experience with a vedic astrologer named Renu Namjoshi. Much like Karen when she heard about Renu from her friend, I too felt an impulse, urging me to seek Renu out and schedule a reading. And I am so happy that I did! In fact, I was so inspired and fascinated by my first reading, that I scheduled a second one to clarify what I'd heard, and to find out more. My second reading with her was last week, and after a cumulative three hours with her, I feel so empowered. So not lost.

Vedic astrology, also known as Hindu astrology or Jyotish, is a science that's been used in India for thousands of years for help in navigating all aspects of life. I'm pretty new to it, and honestly, with all of the planetary relationships to everything, all of the Indian words involved, and all of the complex calculations that need be made, it's kind of intimidating. But with my re-established yoga practice, and as someone whose main intention in this life is to consciously proceed towards enlightenment, I can't afford to look past what a valuable tool it can be in making productive use of my karma. I don't have to understand all the mechanics of the Universe or astrology. I have a basic idea from what I've learned so far, and think that at this point, I know enough to be on the right track. I'm definitely looking forward to learning more about it, though.

The way I understand it, each individual comes in to this life with a certain purpose, with karma accumulated from past lifetimes, destined to unfold in certain ways - both positively and negatively. The whole purpose being to experience the duality provided by the physical world, learning lessons in the process, and eventually to experience the dissolution of the ego, or enlightenment. Vedic astrology offers calculations that can be incredibly precise in the timing and nature of events. But the idea of being able to predict something made me wonder how preordained our lives are, and how free will plays in to things. According to Jyotish, it's not an either/or scenario; there is both predestination and the freedom of choice with how we choose to experience what's already been karmically pre-arranged.

One of my main questions for Renu was, "How can I most wisely use the information that I'm given in a reading to propel me as quickly and efficiently as possible, towards liberation?" And what I gathered from her answers is that my job in this world is to face what karma brings my way in as accepting a way as possible. Not fighting with it, not lamenting it. It's not about the actual events of our lives, per se, but how we embrace them, what we do with them that matters. Our job is to live out our karma without being attached to the results. It is the transcending of our likes and dislikes that lead us to liberation. Merging with our opposites, realizing the holiness of all people and all tendencies - Love, in other words - is the way to freedom. An astrology reading can reveal likelihoods, but we are not meant to know all. What we're given is given to us so that we can be prepared for the opportunities that lie ahead, and to help us understand what we'll be working with, as far as the reasons behind our fears and desires. It seems to me that Renu's gift as a vedic astrologer is not in the making of predictions, although she can, but is in her ability to counsel clients on how best to manage the situations that karma is destined to bring them, arming them with the practical steps they can take in order to best live their individual dharmas. And that is exactly what I feel I got from my time with her.

Anyone who's read my blog for awhile has no doubt picked up on the aimlessness I've felt these past years as I've struggled to come up with a direction for my life, and with my yearning and simultaneous aversion (two different planetary influences at war with each other) to put the spiritual knowledge I've gained to practical use. All of this Renu could clearly see without my telling her anything. My desire to stay in this womb-like environment (my Rahu - known for its tendency to overdo) has been my theme up until a few years ago. Whereupon another planet arrived coaxing me out - but I didn't go. And not following is what has brought me this sense of restlessness. I've intuitively known the time has come, but until now I've resisted it. I'm entering a Saturn period just next week, which is the perfect set up for me to get on with things. (Interestingly, Renu told me that often she gets calls from clients when they're right on the cusp of a new period, as if their soul is nudging them along to greater understanding.) Up until now I've been "influenced" by Jupiter, a more feel-good, follow-your-bliss type of planet - the trouble with that being, sometimes in life you need to do things you don't want to do in order to move ahead. Saturn will arrive, bringing me more of a get-things done sort of influence. She compared Jupiter to the Dalai Lama - a good energy, happy philosophy guy, and Saturn to Mother Teresa - with her more down-in-the-trenches form of service - which is more of what I'm drawn to be doing at this point. More Mother Teresa, less Dalai Lama. More walkie, less talkie.

So, my karma and Renu's counsel is for me to get out of this house. My karma is to work for a living, a 9-5 job. A practical service. I am to study and learn a trade. She gave a few job suggestions, mostly medical related. (A 70% completed medical coding course sounds oddly fortuitous, doesn't it?) Renu told me that some people are destined to spend their days meditating in caves, and that if that were my karmic path, she'd tell me so. But for me, this time around, my spiritual practice is to live and work in the world. I can't remember how she put it, but apparently, in past lifetimes I really got the energetic, mind-stuff down. Which is why in this lifetime, I'm to come down from the ethers and focus more on experiencing the body and normal, everyday doings. I can feel that what's she saying is true. Despite my counterproductive, counterintuitive avoidance of it, I do love having structure. I enjoy the feeling of having a purpose, and when I don't feel like I have one, I feel lost. So, what am I to do with all this information? Just pick something. Pick something and do it. With a loving attitude, finding God in the discomfort or fear that I'll most likely encounter at first, but to go ahead and do it anyway. To live out the karma, making peace with the moments as they pass along the way. All this time I've resisted completing my medical coding course - or anything! - because I wasn't sure if it was the most beneficial, "right" thing for my soul to do. But I got confirmation from Renu that it just doesn't matter what I do. All paths lead to liberation. How I behold what I do is the key. Being reminded of all of this has brought renewed motivation to knock out the rest of this course.

Some other interesting predictions: she said that come 2014, I'll be in a relationship with someone I meet through work. (Another incentive to get that trade!) And happily, she predicted a long life. One in which I'll always have some body issues, but no major illnesses. And that around age 60, I'll write something, perhaps about my experiences, that has the possibility of reaching and helping quite a lot of people.

It's all very interesting to hear and wonder about - but ultimately, Now is where I live. And thanks to Renu, I feel encouraged towards a wiser use of my time here. It's a huge opportunity and privilege, being alive in this world, and I'd really love not to waste it. So I know what to do - and finally feel willing to do it.

My work is at hand! And it's daunting! But a blessed place to be.

wishes for my brothers and sisters

2011-03-15T20:38:00.000-05:00

Today, for the first time since the earthquake and tsunami struck Japan, I watched images of the natural disaster and all of its after effects. My heart goes out to my brothers and sisters there on the other side of the world enduring what they are. From the safety of my home, I watch videos of many thousands of people's lives being completely turned upside down and washed away - visions of which nightmares are made.

I wish for them all the strength and support in the world as they move forward during this calamity. I wish for them the emotional and physical resilience to keep going, one step at a time. I wish for them clarity, to see that midst their fear and suffering, they're being provided with exactly what they need in order to move from one moment to the next. I wish for them healing tears as they mourn all they've lost. I wish for them psychic anchors to the immortal parts of themselves that are infinite and untouched by any human plight. I wish for them a sense of connection with each other as they face all that they are, and that knowing they're together helps them be less afraid. I wish for them to have their basic human needs taken care of as quickly and efficiently as possible, and for the world to reach out, giving what they can. I wish for them the remembrance that all is temporary and that the chaos of today will eventually fade in to another's calm. I wish for them to know that they are loved and being taken care of. I wish them peace.

Ways we can help.

sweet baby universe

2011-03-08T10:42:00.000-06:00

Last summer, two of my loved ones welcomed a baby in to their family. This past week I had the opportunity to visit the little one - and this time, I actually took it. She is such a sweet baby girl!

Babies, children, animals. They offer the rest of us their priceless, inherent wisdom. They perpetually inhabit the moment, and are perpetually looking for something Good, always expecting to find it. Which is a practice I know we'd all be wise to follow. Well, I'll just speak for myself: I know that I would be wise to follow.

I'm not sure how long I was there exactly, maybe an hour or two - and I couldn't keep my eyes off of her the entire time. You can look into a baby's eyes and see their timeless, cosmic Selves shining through. It's an interesting, entertaining set-up to watch vast Mind operating through, or as, such a cute little package. Spirit's little body exploring its limits, reacquainting itself with supposed time and space, beholding everything in such a curious, receptive way. The perpetual student.

You know something that keeps such a big smile plastered on your face has got to be Good.

the not-at-all tragic death of an imaginary friend

2011-03-07T00:45:00.002-06:00

Once upon a time there was a boy from Texas that fell in love hard and fast with a boy from Brazil. They met online, and with great ease became fast friends. Long conversations, the exchanging of pictures, time spent over the phone and on webcam - led them to even more quickly becoming a couple. A couple in the "youthfully naive, puppy-lovey, long distance, no hope of being sustained any significant period of time for lack of means to make it happen and/or one partner's hesitation to even try" sense of the word. The Texan was a jerk. He acted out, was manipulative and cruel, heartbroken over the loss of what he'd wanted so. Apologies were made and forgiveness was granted; nonetheless, fate ushered them apart, each along their respective paths.

Some few years later, the Brazilian, thinking enough time had passed, was able to get in touch with the Texan again, hoping to catch up and maybe begin their friendship anew. When they did finally speak again, all those past, unfulfilled feelings the Texan had felt came rushing back, flooding his senses and soul. His feelings were not at all reciprocated, the Brazilian even denying there'd been that much to their connection in the first place. It was embarrassing and hard for the Texan to hear. Immediately, he set forth to change his lover's mind.

He tried sweet. He tried pathetic. He tried bold and unpredictable. He tried everything to win the Brazilian's affection. Partly genuine, partly desperate, his machinations were more geared towards capturing his lover's heart, than trying to glimpse it - and he resented him for making him act that way. What made the entire situation so intoxicating - and aggravating! - for the Texan was his genuine admiration not only for the Brazilian himself, but for Brazil - its culture, music, and natural allure. He immersed himself in the musical sounds of multiple Gilbertos and Sergio Mendes. He bought himself software he could scarcely afford, intending to master the Portuguese language, envisioning some bright future in that exotic land, able to bask in the sunlight of the Corcovado sky, Christ the Redeemer proudly looking down upon the pair, blessing the Texan and the sexy Brazilian on his arm.

In one instance of more sincerity than not, the Texan, knowing that the Brazilian would, for sentimental reasons, like a particular oak tree pendant he'd found online, sent it to him, genuinely hoping to make his beloved happy - and he did. When it was later stolen, literally ripped from the Brazilian's neck by a drunk (at a concert?), the Texan promised that one day when they at long last met face to face, he'd bring him a replacement pendant and place it around his neck himself. But that wasn't meant to be.

Much like their first parting, their last parting was just as sudden - though not as unexpected; the Texan knew his constant pushing would most likely cause a rift - and yet, he couldn't seem to help himself. But the day did come when the Brazilian stopped sending emails and stopped calling. By then, sick of the chase, the Texan felt he'd long ago tossed aside his dignity and that enough had been enough, he'd beg no more. He reasoned that if the Brazilian wanted him in his life, then it was the Brazilian's move to make, and he would wait for him to make it. He waited and he waited. And never heard from him again.

Months and years after the quiet began, the Texan still hurt, still took it personally. Any mention of Brazil or thought of his beloved left him feeling more than blue. Even seeing the infomercial for the "Brazil Butt Lift" would cause his heart to sink. He swung between states of furious resentment of the Brazilian and pitiful self-reproach. His mind was awash in "should haves, would haves," and "why me's?" He was torn between exorcism, cursing the day he'd laid eyes on that computer screen and plotting cool, nonchalant ways of winning him back in the future. In the meantime, he decided he'd hold on to Brazil instead. He played the groovy, laid-back bossa nova. He kept Rio's forecast on his WeatherBug. He practiced Portuguese from time to time, thinking that maybe, just maybe...

And then one fateful day, as he was about to begin his Portuguese lesson, he noticed the resistance that arose. Even more, he acknowledged that it was a feeling he always felt when the thought of practicing entered his mind. It was clear to him on this day that he didn't really want to be learning the language - or he eagerly already would have been; there would have been no procrastination. "Why, exactly, am I doing this?" he asked himself. "What do I think I'm going to accomplish or prove by forcing myself to learn a language spoken in a place I can't peacefully imagine visiting? If I'd never known the Brazilian, would I even be bothering? Why am I constantly chasing after this non-existent life, worshiping a person in my mind that obviously wants nothing to do with me? Why would I dream of going somewhere that would without doubt be tainted by nasty thoughts of him?" In his mind's eye, he could see himself walking barefoot in the sand of Ipanmea beach, oblivious to its beauty, lamenting the fact he was on the stroll alone. As he began asking himself these questions, his story slowly began to unravel. "I want the Brazilian in my life: is that true? Can I absolutely know that my life would be better with him in it? I want to learn Portuguese: is that true? Am I practicing? Am I excited as I begin my studies? I need the Brazilian in my life to be happy: is it true? Who would I be without that story? How do I react, who do I pretend to be, how do I treat the Brazilian, and myself, when I believe that thought? The Brazilian is too good for me: is that true? There's something wrong with me: is that true, do I know that for sure? I never meant anything to him at all: is that true? Did the Brazilian ever mean anything to me? I love the Brazilian: is that true? I want someone in my life that doesn't want to be in mine: is that absolutely true, really?"

And as the Texan answered the questions that poured in to his mind, his perspective on his and the Brazilian's love story crumbled, and the spell he'd been under was broken. When the Texan took the time to question his devotion to the one-sided love affair, and honestly saw how he beheld the Brazilian, he could see that he didn't even know him, and even more surprising to the Texan, there were parts of him that he didn't even like - or would from then on be willing to accept in a partner! He came to see that he'd been obsessed with someone he'd hardly ever known. In reality, compared to the vastness of a person's entire make-up, the Texan had only been given the scantest clues to what made the Brazilian tick. He spent years fantasizing over a character he'd concocted from the meager scraps of the real life Brazilian, that the Brazilian had deigned to give him.

Admiring the curly dark hair of a handsome stranger, hearing someone's stories, laughing and sharing songs - no matter how precious the moments - does not a love affair make. Nor does it make a friendship if its foundation isn't pure. And it couldn't have been. Not when one adamantly claims to want the other's freedom while simultaneously is seething with resentment. Not when one uses every psychological tactic he can think of to bend the other's will in his favor. Not when one approaches the other as something to be desperately grasped at for their own sense of importance.

Yes, the Texan finally did wake up. But dreams sometimes linger upon awakening - and some longer than others. Sadness sometimes still arises. He'll see a picture of Sugarloaf Mountain or Copacabana, or might realize it's Carnaval time again, wishing that he could visit - but not wanting to if it would ache. When the conflict comes, he remembers not to fall asleep again, but to sit up, take note, and pay attention. "Look at what you're believing," he says to himself. "You want to visit: is it true? Is one mental ghost story powerful enough to keep you from a region of millions? Don't go back to sleep. Don't resurrect the non-existent world of dreams you've come to see through. When you want to go, when and if you are destined to go, it will be made so abundantly clear to you, nothing will keep you away. Until then, just be glad. Be grateful."

And he is. He smiles, knowing that the fantasy "frenemy" he'd conjured can be laid to rest, having never been real in the first place, and that the beautiful, innocent, real-life Brazilian - whose only "crime" had been remaining unapologetically true to himself - is in another part of the world alive and well, rocking his path, exactly where, and how, he should be.

In the end, the Texan could see very clearly his next move, and was delighted by how simple it was. He removed the language software from his computer. He took the replacement oak tree pendant, threw it in the trash. And then decided to tell the story of the lover he'd never really had, and how in the losing of him, saw him for what he'd been: a hallowed brother come to help wake him up.

And with the telling of the story, he said...

"Thank you," to the brother.
"I'm sorry," to the lover.
"Goodbye," to the friend.
"Maybe someday," to Brazil.
"I love you," to the Soul.

And to the bossa nova:
"You and me are gonna dance."

Fim.

to vancouver and back

2011-03-02T15:31:00.000-06:00

When the doorbell rings, more often than not, I flee to some unseen corner of the house. It's become an automatic response. Pavlov's dogs drooled. I disappear. But I am working on it. Nowadays, I'm consciously deciding to stay put - and sometimes to even greet the visitor at the door if I can stand it. It's so clear to me that whatever discomfort I imagine is going to take place is really just a bunch of mental bullshit, reality proven over and over again to be smoother and more enjoyable than what I anticipate.

The point is: living in such a small way in such sheltered surroundings, it's always unsettling when you leave them for wider, freer spaces - say, when flying across the country, for example. While it is unsettling, it's also extremely liberating. I used my sojourn to Vancouver last week as an experiment in how I'd get on by myself in the "big, scary world." And I have to say that this time was like the time before it and the time before that: perfectly fine. And fun. Yes, I had moments of nervousness, I won't even lie. Yeah, I did kind of look forward to getting back to my hotel room after being away from it for periods of time. But the conclusion I'm fast arriving at is that I'm nowhere near as maladaptive as I've thought I am. That's all just a mind-trip. I made my way from Dallas to Phoenix, Phoenix to Portland, 15 minutes from Portland to Vancouver, and again in reverse two days later. I did it beautifully. And purposely.

I sat crammed in with total strangers on each flight, replying as thoughtfully and as capably as I could in each unsolicited instance of small talk. I made my way through the terminal, midst hundreds of people waiting in chairs, milling about or standing still, all eyes on me, each of them watching as I passed by (not really, obvi - but that was the fear). And I just went on my way. I talked to the driver of the shuttle, the hotel front desk personnel, the staff at the eye clinic. On my last day, I even walked a block over to the mall to pick up some See's Candies for someone back home, and just for the hell of it, I walked around the mall. Around and around it. Just to pass the strangers. Just because I could. And I could! I did!

Part of my spiritual practice, as a way of beholding/dis-identifying from the ego, is to stay as grounded in Presence as I can. That is to remain as the Witness, noticing the flow of mind and matter as it comes and goes, with a loving detachment. And as I had this little three-day adventure, I watched the swing of my attitudes as they came and went. It was an interesting show, watching how the mind responded to things. At times I was chill, others I was stressed. And through it all, Awareness shone and everything really was just fine. A couple of times as I was walking through the airport, I remember seeing all of the people and not feeling any kind of anxiety really, but more of an envy at the way they all seemed to be going about their travels effortlessly and with friends and loved ones. It made me feel kind of lonely, and it pointed out to me how much smaller my life is than what it could be.

It was a good trip and I came home with a lot of food for thought. My time away reaffirmed for me what I am capable of and inspired me to consider what else I could possibly do.

mad respect for will vision

2011-03-01T19:28:00.000-06:00

From the time I was an infant, I've had an eye condition called nystagmus. And while the cause isn't known, the way I understand it, it's some sort of impairment in communication between the eye and the brain that's responsible - which results in uncontrollable shaking of the eyes. I'm so accustomed to it by now that I hardly think about it, but I do notice it, because a lot of the time it makes things more challenging to focus on. Most nystagmus patients, myself included, often find that tilting their head in a certain way reduces the amount of twitching. It's hard for me to focus straight ahead, and partly why I dread having my picture taken or having a one on one conversation with someone that I don't know. It's hard for me to focus for any significant period of time without needing to turn my head to still the eye motion.

Anyway, on top of that, I've always had less than stellar vision and have often needed to wear glasses or contacts - over which, I often chose a blurry world. Through the years, I've visited LASIK centers around here, checking to see if I was a candidate, but none of them would perform the procedure due to the nystagmus.

A couple of months ago, I was looking online for some way of improving my vision, not having been to see an eye doctor in ages, when I came across a LASIK surgeon that has both the experience and technology to perform the treatment on patients like me. So, after having sent my vision records to the laser center and sending a flash drive with videos of my nystagmus in action for the doctor to take a look at, I was told that I would most likely be a good candidate.

With their office being so far away - Vancouver, WA (right outside Portland) - we scheduled an examination for last Wednesday, the potential surgery for last Thursday, and a post-op appointment for Friday - all of which I could do (and did) in one trip.

It's my fifth day post surgery, and as my vision becomes less and less blurry, I'm appreciating more and more the improvement to my vision - it wasn't immediately apparent to me. My vision is a couple of lines better on the eye chart, which I'm happy about, and the doctor was pleased with how my eyes handled the procedure. I guess it's still too early to know just how good it's going to get, but even if it remains how it is, I'd be happy. In all likelihood it's not ever going to be 20/20 but it's much better than it was before, so I consider myself blessed.

For awhile I thought my nystagmus might improve when my vision got better, but they're two separate conditions and there's not a cure for it. So I guess my restless eyes are here to stay. But no complaints! I have eyes - and eyes that can see more clearly now, at that.

I just wanted to give a shout out to Dr.Will and his staff because every single person I encountered on his team - whether through email, phone calls, or my actual visits - were so warm, professional, knowledgeable, and seemed to genuinely care about me and my experience with them.

I am so thankful that I was able to do this - and that it was with the people that it was.

wedding invitation

2011-02-20T22:14:00.000-06:00

The wedding is so close, just a couple of months away. One of my best friends from high school - I'll call her Simone - is getting married. :)

I've known for a year that she'll be getting married in April; still, I have no idea whether or not I'll attend. More than likely, I won't know until that afternoon. Maybe even 'til I walk through the door.

We met when we were freshmen in high school. That was back in Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill days, and Simone so closely resembled her. I remember telling her to pose, to put her hand in her pocket and give me the peace sign. We recognized each other as kindreds (from lifetimes back) the first night a group of us hung out together.We bonded immediately and have always been on the same wavelength - appreciations and neuroses alike.

Over the years, she's kept in touch with me the most consistently - especially in these last few reclusive ones, though not so much anymore. We've hardly talked since she called me last year to tell me that her boyfriend - I'll call him Oliver - had proposed. By then I'd already begun shying away from social calls, so that we spoke that time was a big thing itself. However, we were still talking when she first met Oliver, so I got to hear about their first meetings and listened as she spoke of their burgeoning romance. He sounds like a super nice guy and is cute to boot.

When she called to tell me about his proposal, she told me how afterward, Oliver had invited all of her family and friends to a pub for a surprise celebration. Hearing that stung a little bit. I felt like I should have been there. But really, how could I expect an invitation? I'd never met the guy or even been around Simone herself for years. My absence there was my doing, I know that. But still it sounds like something that would have been nice to be a part of.

So, it's been about two weeks since my invitation came in the mail. I've taken it out a couple of times and looked at it, admiring the little pink shaded birds, clueless as to how I'll reply. Considering my reaction to the pub party, I can imagine how I'll feel if I don't go to the wedding - but more importantly, how Simone will feel. I've told her how unsure I am and she's told me how much it would mean to her to have me there.

It's been pointed out to me that I could just go to the ceremony and skip out on the reception. And that is a thought...

Really, this is Simone's and Oliver's day, not mine. So it's not like I'd be that noticed. Why is this such a thing with me? What's with the hesitation? Part of me obviously wants to go, otherwise I wouldn't be having this conversation with myself; I wouldn't feel this torn or trepidacious. I would clearly know that staying home is the right thing for me to do - but I don't have that knowing; I do not have that certainty.

I want to be a good friend. And a wise, courageous soul. I want to be with Simone on her special day, and meet the man that she loves so much. I'd like to rise to the occasion and be the kind of person I know I am...or could be.

It's real...and it's freakin' me out.
(The perfect spiritual practice!)

Bright side: there is over a month to reply.

for my somewhere valentine

2011-02-14T11:32:00.003-06:00

"Enough"

It is enough for me by day
To walk the same bright earth with him;
Enough that over us by night
The same great roof of stars is dim.

I do not hope to bind the wind
Or set a fetter on the sea -
It is enough to feel his love
Blow by like music over me.

-Sara Teasdale

iclw, revisited

2011-02-14T11:06:00.000-06:00

Back in October, I participated for the first time in the comment-leaving festival known as International Comment Leaving Week (ICLW) - which I wrote about here. I gave it another shot during January's round, and this time found it much more fun, so I thought I'd go ahead and share it.

Redefining for myself the intention behind my comments left, as well as the definition of what makes a "good" one, really made all the difference in how my experience of the week turned out.

I chilled out about my own stupid comments, and approached each blog that I read as someone's precious life experience, knowing that it might possibly be the most important message I ever receive; knowing that just because it's something I wouldn't choose to identify with or am not able to understand doesn't make it any less valuable to my soul. I took in their stories and their art and their humor, and I appreciated every single word.

Making it more about the author than the commenter (me), really allowed me to receive them.

And there are so many cool people out there to receive.

the 1st 90 days

2011-02-13T11:05:00.000-06:00

I love to plan. I'm a big list-maker guy. The trouble is that I enjoy that part of the equation so well, that a lot of the time, I fail to keep on keepin' on 'til I hit the other side. I adore the visualization of things, but for whatever reason (and there are a few I tend to choose from - certain stories I tell at certain times, but I won't get in to those just now), I end up stopping myself before things can really get good.

I'd like not to do that anymore. The story of my life could be so much more expansive than I've allowed it to be. I'd like to cut through all of the self-defeating BS and get on with things.

One of the biggest things that's held me back through the years is my relationship with the body. I've struggled with my weight (read, my thoughts about my weight) since I was a pre-teen. When I look back at old pictures, I think it's so crazy how I thought of myself as fat when I clearly wasn't. And as I've been in seclusion these years, the weight has climbed back on. I didn't feel particularly motivated to take care of myself when I knew I wasn't out in the world. No one sees me, so who cares? was sort of my mindset. But I see how messed up that is. I see me. I breathe through my lungs. I inhabit this precious vehicle. I am worthy and reason enough to treat my body as respectfully as I can.

So I've got a plan. A total body makeover. One that ditches the fat and brings about strength, vitality, agility, and an endless parade of those invaluable endorphins. Simply put, I want my body to be as healthy and strong (and sexy, yo) as it can possibly be. I'm not looking to be a GQ model. I don't want to be some skin whore up in the gay club. And I'm not trying to look like some ideal Someone. Comparisons are useless; I just want to be the best, healthiest, happiest person that I am capable of being. The best me to ever walk the planet.

I've lost weight before using Medifast as well as with the Power 90 program. So I'm going to use these tools again. I thought I'd break this thing up in to 90 day phases. The first 90 days I used the low-cal Medifast and occasional exercise. Last week I hit my first 90 days and I've lost 51 pounds. I thought for this next 90 days I'd begin Power 90, but honestly, I just couldn't get in to it yet, and I didn't want to force things. So I'm going to continue to do Medifast and just step up the exercise. But for the 90 day block following this one, I really want to start Power 90 because I know how important building muscle is - and I know from experience how great it can feel. I'm not getting enough calories right now for all that exertion. For now I'm just gonna do the cardio and burn off the fat and I'll focus on the strength training later.

So far, so good.
I'm feeling good about it.
Here's to moving beyond daydreams!

as personal as a rainstorm

2011-02-10T22:26:00.000-06:00

Something I've come to see that has really proven beneficial in the navigation of my day to day experience is the impersonal, impermanent nature of things - the faithful way they come and go. Especially emotion. All of it mind, and so easy to get swept away by. Of course it's no secret that things change, but remaining cognizant of how temporary things are has stopped me from becoming so overwhelmed and identified with my mental world, and by the stories I find myself telling and believing - helping me to relate to all if it easily, as I would the weather.

Grace increasingly allows me to step out of those toxic-thought downpours that can sometimes descend with unsettling fury. But in moments of Presence, I'm offered an umbrella composed of Soul-empowering choice. For example, when I notice that I'm taking something too personally, am irritable, or depressed in the throes of some full-tilt ennui, I have the option of taking a look at what thoughts I'm believing in the moment, sitting with them and looking to see if they're as true and consuming as I've assumed them to be. I'm able to actively choose to tell another story, one that not only feels better but one that, for all I know, is just as true and will serve me incalculably better. I can employ imagination, producing joyful visions that literally make the Heart dance. I have the option of finding solitude, sitting in silence, and Being. I am able to observe as the Pure Awareness that I am at my core - and watch the mental storm as it approaches, does its thing, and eventually dies down, all the while knowing that that is not Who I Really Am. I can observe with no need to "fix" things, no need to try and feel better - but just to sit, knowing that who I am (as Source) transcends all of it, completely incapable of being "fixed" or improved upon; already perfect, there is just no need.

That I've come to know these tools (truths) has not only helped me relate to myself, but those around me in a more loving and patient way, I think. I am able to see that our thoughts and moods come and that our thoughts and moods go, and that none of it is personal. The rain does fall, and thankfully, the sun follows - but neither happen to us. Nor do they define us. They are for and within us.

The things that Grace reveals!

exposed

2011-02-09T15:09:00.000-06:00

I've been on Blogger since 2009, but until yesterday hadn't told any family members about this blog. Only friends. Partly because I assumed disinterest on their end, but mostly because I wanted something that was just mine. In a sheltered day-to-day world like the one I've created here, with so few comings and goings and with so few departures from the norm, it's easy to become stuck. It's easy to adopt a role, practicing certain ways of being until eventually it's who you take yourself to be. And the ones around you see you and make the same mistake. My Circle can't help but look at me and see who I was before. My neuroses, idiosyncrasies, things I've done before today. Which wouldn't bother me so much were I better established in new patterns of conducting and seeing myself - but I'm still cultivating those. My so-called "best self" is in his infancy. So in the meantime, I just wanted a place that could be as free as possible from perceptions of me tainted by the past. But as I'm typing this, I'm seeing how crazy that is - I have my own! And besides, their perceptions of me are none of my business. As always, regardless of them or anyone, my work is simply to align with my own best vision. That's all that matters.

As soon as the words left my lips, I felt immediate regret for having told someone so near to me that I have this place. I always knew it was out there online and free for anyone to see. I always expected they'd read it someday. And that's cool. I'd love that my loved ones would care to read what I have to say. I just didn't realize I'd feel so exposed at first. I didn't realize that I'd actually question what I'd say when I knew that people so intimately near me might be reading. But a little time has passed, and I know that nothing's going to change. It's still my place and still beneficial to me. I'm still flawed and imperfect. Still amazing. Nothing has changed and it's very interesting to notice. There is nothing that's a secret - nothing that need be hid.

dfw gets an arctic blast

2011-02-01T14:33:00.003-06:00

I look out the large front window, my eyes overwhelmed by the bright white blanket that's been laid on the neighborhood; I almost find myself squinting. It's freezing; it's gray; it's the epitome of all I dislike about winter.

Very early this morning, the highly anticipated "arctic blast" that the weather forecasters have been predicting for days now, arrived right on schedule, just as they said it would. It's always fun to watch the news in north Texas when the weather turns cold and we get layers of ice. It's such a rare occurrence here (we get snowfall maybe once or twice a year), that when it does occur, not a moment is wasted in the dramatization of it. But to be fair, I've heard that it really is bad and not just hype, that's it not been this bad in fifteen or twenty years. Still, it's fun to tune in. I like how the reporters are sprinkled in different locations ("braving the cold," as the newscasters are fond of saying) to show the various effects throughout the Metroplex. How they pick up chunks of ice, holding them up for the camera to see, and how they interview the passengers inconvenienced by the interrupted light rail service. And how they stand a fair distance off, sometimes capturing footage of good Samaritans stopping by the roadside to help push a wayward vehicle that's gotten stuck in the snow. Or how they report live from DFW to air live coverage of stranded travelers and pictures of empty planes stuck on the tarmac. Then there's the classic clip of some random citizen saying, "It's cold out here." Haha! It's easy for me to enjoy all the "frigid" hoopla from my safe, warm house, I admit. But my heart goes out to all the workers out there who must face the elements and to the homeless who are very much effected by this kind of weather. I wish them all warmth and safety. It's nasty out there, and unfortunately, many are so ill-prepared.

But as bad as it may be, I can't help but wonder what our neighbors to the northeast would have to say about all of this...

life & love shots

2011-01-30T10:54:00.000-06:00

Jeff Patterson: Life & Love Shots, Vol. 1 & 2.

That's what I titled the two photo books that I made at Shutterfly a few weeks ago - and it was a fun project. I revisited so many memories as I sorted through pictures, uploaded them, edited and designed the pages. I saw old friends and co-workers. Family members, gone and far away. Places I used to live and wander. Moments in time I thought worth capturing. The books started with my first picture as a newborn, followed by pictures of my young parents, through school, my 20s, up to my crazy lookin' mug taken just a few months ago.

It's weird when you think about it how a lifetime, either remembered in photographs or imagination, can only be recalled in little slivers. A whole life: day after day, seconds, minutes, hours - each one composed of countless perceptions: light, colors, sounds, aromas, thoughts, tactile sensations. The number of words we speak and emotions that we feel in any given day. But when we look back, we have only available to us but scanty detail, compared with what we actually experienced in the moment.

But even with that the case, we're left with quite a story we can tell. The drama. The highs and lows. The bittersweetness. I remembered all of it these past weeks. For the most part I enjoyed it, but some of it still stings. The bright side is that now it only sting gently, almost imperceptibly so.

I've got the books on my shelf and I'm glad to know that they're there to visit again sometime. But not today or anytime soon. I have Now to engage in. But those pages are filled with people who helped bring me here and who came right along side. Dear, ugly, beautiful people that no longer exist. I love them all.

winds&tide

2011-01-27T12:51:00.000-06:00

Before I began this blog, I had another one (for a week maybe) that I called winds&tide. I'd pretty much forgotten about it, but the other day I got an email letting me know that someone had commented on one of the posts. I was surprised because I thought I had deactivated it. Anyway, in the "About me" section of that blog, I wrote what's below (with a few minor changes), and I still like it and find that it's still true, so I thought I'd post it here:

I am the sea.

Jeff writes because it’s an urge.

It makes sense to him. It’s good.

When Jeff speaks of God, Source Energy, the Universe, the Tao, the Divine, Allah – they all mean the same thing to him: Love.

And Love, in its purest, eternal, unspeakable form is the only reality there is – it is Life itself.

And he believes that we are That. And That is I.

He writes with the knowing that his thoughts and personality are not who he really is. And yet, mind appears.

The mind appears as waves on the sea of Self, the I am.

He writes not because he thinks what he says is the truth – he knows better than that.

He simply offers what he perceives in the moment.

He writes because it’s an inspiration –
And he finds the feeling good.

He writes only of the human story – his changing tides.
But the sea – the awareness of it – is who I am.

word cloud

2011-01-21T17:30:00.000-06:00

I read a cool post this morning over at Almost All The Truth in which the author was reflecting on the power of words. She gave us a really important reminder, I think, in that the words we speak and the thoughts we habitually give our attention to, really do make a difference in our lives. And like this author - yeah, I know: I totally lifted her idea - I went to Wordle and entered in my blog's URL to create a word cloud that illustrates by size just how often certain words are used. And I love that "practice" and "love" would appear biggest. A large part of how we choose to express ourselves to the Universe comes through our words, and that's pretty big. So, thanks to the author of Almost All The Truth for the cool post idea!

You can go to Wordle and make your own. I like words themselves (regardless of their definitions): how they look and the sounds they make - so this little deal was right up my alley. I'm apparently not skillful or clever enough to figure out how to make the image clearer - but you get the idea.

new year's re-conclusions: the practices

2011-01-19T20:24:00.000-06:00

Inquiry is my practice. Looking at the mental concepts I believe in as they arise, one by one, investigating, to find out what's ultimately true for me. Remaining mindful of appearing thoughts and accompanying emotions in my awareness is the goal, if I'm to have one. Vigilant as I can be, I allow the emotions to arise as they do without judgment, knowing that the so-called negative ones are there to loyally remind me that I'm believing my thoughts, stuck in a story that does not serve me well.

Yoga is my practice. I allow my breath. I allow the thoughts. I practice the techniques as I've been taught. I take each limb one step at a time, never rushing. I remain conscious of its power and value.

Vitality is my practice. I love the body that appears. A divine vessel. I nourish it, exercise it, and respect it for its resilience, power, and strength. I cultivate that energy. I care for it as any other friend.

Gratitude is my practice. I give thanks for the blessings that are continuously showered upon me. The ones I recognize, as well as the invisible and as yet undiscovered. I keep my eyes open for Universal favors, expect them, and know them to be. I look for signs of love in every soul I see. All are kept in mind. All are given thanks for.

Trust is my practice. I trust the wisdom that I'm given from moment to moment to move me and inspire me in any way that is needed. I trust that all is well. That despite any tragic or heartbreaking appearances, there is an Intelligence that's given rise to it all. And that what's seemingly steeped in darkness is but one swing of the pendulum and that light shall be restored by and by.

Self-reliance is my practice. Only joy is my criteria when choosing what action to take. I respect the knowledge, opinions, and experiences of others. I seek counsel when I need it. I take it in; I listen; I consider it with all of my heart. Still, I recognize their wisdom to be their own. Ultimately, the Intelligence moving through me reigns supreme.

Compassion is my practice. I possess an empathy for my human brothers and sisters, simply because I realize that each of us is doing the best we know how in any given moment. I can see the minds of others - as well as my own - when stuck in stories and know that until they're questioned, our stories keep us locked in beliefs and behaviors that we'd let go of if we knew how. I love knowing that there is ultimately no "right" and "wrong." That things simply are what they are. And that we define and give meaning to everything we experience.

Contemplation is my practice. I find solace in the impermanence of things. Everything I can look at or mentally conceive - everything of this world - will one day cease to be. Kept in mind, this allows me to treasure and celebrate what is here and now, knowing its departure as inevitable - and brings to me the gift of patience for all that passes through that I'd not prefer, for the very same reason.

Service is my practice. I look for ways in which I can serve whatever form of the Divine is before me, the best I can. Whether it be another person, an animal, or even a mental concept of something in time and space. Knowing all to be who and what they are is loving them in the highest - and anything else I do that follows will be enough. They need not be grand gestures - any gesture is holy if done with a pure heart.

Adventurousness is my practice. I appreciate knowing that I need not find a "purpose." That in sitting, standing, and breathing, I am living my full "potential" in any given moment, regardless of any path I choose. And that any chosen path is the right one. Greatness, acts of brilliance, are all composed of tiny now-moments after all. I love that these would be enough. I love knowing that our very existence makes us worthy and lovable - and miraculous. I love knowing that the "me" I like pretending I am doesn't need to - and couldn't anyway - have all the answers. I love recognizing when God/Universe provides me with all I need to know exactly when I need to know it. I dream big but live midst all the small steps taken in the moment, for Life is here and now. I love that my only "purpose" is to have fun along the way.

Inner peace is my practice. It's my top priority and underlies all these practices. I remember this as often as I can. Especially in those moments where I don't quite measure up to my highest ideal. I remind myself that it's for this very reason I call it "practice."

aware, as life's student

2011-01-13T21:28:00.001-06:00

In this moment, there is an Awareness present. I know that I am. And I've come to see that beyond this present self-awareness, I can't know anything else for sure. Anything that I'd attempt to know would only be made of mind-stuff, conceptual thought-forms that come and go.

The past and the future are only imaginings as far as I can tell. In this moment, all I have to tell me that something did take place or might take place are thoughts. But once they disappear, where is my proof? And even in their presence, where is my proof? It's all only here and now. This is the only thing I ever really "have" to rely on.

Law of Attraction, karma, magick, astrology, heaven, hell, purgatory, the astral plane, enlightenment. All philosophies, beliefs, and practices are all only concepts of the mind. I can't know anything for sure. All I can do is look to my own experience and see what feels right and then seemingly follow that. Many of these ideas ring true for me. Many of these concepts resonate with me to the utmost. And so I live by them...except when I don't.

I'm trying to reacquaint myself with role of student - because it's clearer and clearer to me that it's my true nature. I am to let Life show me the way. I am to allow others to speak their truths, to have their opinions, to tell their stories, to perform their experiments, draw their own conclusions, to study and report what they have found. I am to allow circumstances their own unfolding, in their own time and fashion.

How dare I try and force Reality to be other than it is in the moment! How dare I speak for another, think for another, rely on another! Another person, thing, or idea. How futile and inaccurate. That would be a memorization, an assumption, a studying, an analysis, a false sense of static knowledge. And as Life's student - eternal "witness" of the here and now - there is nothing to be known. Only lived as Consciousness.

like a balloon let go of

2011-01-09T17:09:00.000-06:00

I don't like feeling weighted down.

It doesn't make sense to me, holding on to useless objects and piles of stuff. I've heard it said that our outer environment is a reflection, related to what's going on inside us - and with a mind-stream that has its fair share of cumbersome stories floating about, the less junk I have surrounding me the better. Clutter feels claustrophobic. I'd much rather have spaciousness and that sense of lightness that goes along with it

In that spirit, these past few weeks, I've been going through my admittedly modest amount of possessions, and have been giving away, and getting rid of, all the things I just don't want or need anymore. The guitar I never got around to learning to play, canvases old and new, linens and a microwave and kitchenware that I'd been holding on to from that long ago time of living on my own. I went through my little portable, expanding file and shredded now-insignificant letters and documents. I've sold several books. Recycled my iMac. Given away clothes. Consolidated all my photos in to Shutterfly albums - which have turned out so well! I even went through and canceled all the online accounts that I no longer use. I told my mom that I'd been doing all of this and she was kind of surprised, aware of my penchant for making things around me disappear, wondering what in the world I had left to get rid of - haha! It's probably the biggest purging I've done yet - and there's a sense of liberation in it.

I totally understand why people have keepsakes and treasure souvenirs and whatnot. I have a couple myself. I'm incredibly sentimental. I love photographs. I love the memories that have been left me. But for the most part, I'm just not compelled to cling to the physical remnants of people or places or events. I hold their essence, the Heart feelings they stir in me, instead - and that's more than enough to see me through this life.

I love knowing that I could just pack a few bags, keep happy thoughts, and that in doing so, I'd have all I'll ever need. I love knowing that I could just up and leave like a bird. Or blow away like the wind.

a'ight new year, listen up!

2011-01-01T09:23:00.000-06:00

"Free Me" by Joss Stone, Colour Me Free

why all the drama?

2011-01-01T07:37:00.003-06:00

I had another great Christmas. The house was filled with family and laughter. And as I sit and recall last Saturday's events, I cannot find a single thing - not one! - that left me feeling especially nervous, inadequate, or out of place. Each of which were thoughts that tinged my pre-holiday fantasies. Thoughts that always tinge my pre-holiday fantasies. Thoughts that tinge most of my pre-anything fantasies.

I'm detecting a pattern...

One that, upon closer scrutiny, ALWAYS turns out to be a flimsy, vaporous thought.

As I look back on it, the way things unfolded are the way they always unfold - smoothly, and just as they should, with me proving to be not as significant or as odd as the critical voices tell me that I am beforehand.

So, what's the big, effin' deal, man?

Why all the drama?

I'm really getting bored with feeling anxious anticipating being around family (or anyone, honestly) - because that's all it is: the anticipation (the actual participating always leaves me glad I went) - and all anticipation is only thought, projecting an imaginary future.

So this particular mental charade has been seen through, I've gotta say. There is just no evidence, after experience after experience with my family, that the things I fear will happen in these instances ever really happen. So, let's be done with this. This shit is so 2005.

what this party's about

2010-12-21T23:59:00.001-06:00

It's said that when a person does a kind deed and then goes and talks about it afterward, it's purity is somewhat lost. And I agree with that. Performing a loving act, and then letting the ego shout out to the world how wonderful and generous it is, kind of negates the original beauty that inspired the action in the first place.

With that acknowledged, I'm going to go ahead anyway and discuss something that happened to me this morning. Not as a declaration of how great I am, but just to share the kind of joy that the Universe made me privy to - and what it means to me.

In an unusual trip out of the house, I went with my aunt to run some errands. (As a humorous aside - at least it was funny to me - it's been so long since I've gone anywhere that requires shoes, for a moment there, I actually forgot where I put them.) It was so warm and the weather was so nice, I just wanted to be out and about. A little nervous, I set out with the intention to see Goodness in everyone and everything that I encountered. I announced (to myself, to God, to whomever was listening) that just because the past has had me awkward, and that just because my social skills are out of tune, my right-now experience doesn't have to - and won't necessarily - be the same. I decided that I'd go out around people and not psych myself out, imagining the thoughts in other people's heads. I decided that I would remain present and allow Reality to flow as it would, trusting that it would all be fine. And guess what!...

No, seriously....guess what....

It was!

It was more than fine! And I don't know what it was about this morning, other than my simple decision (which hardly seems like something I can take credit for), but I was just so excited and glad to be in the sunshine and to feel the warm breeze, to watch the people in line at the post office standing patiently or not so much, and checking their packages, shopping for shipping boxes, exchanging small pleasantries, and feeling the breeze of the ceiling fans, hearing the radio they had playing, softly and with static. I appreciated waiting in line at the bank and noticing the ornaments and Christmas greenery lining the long, glass teller window. I was thankful for the money I received that I put in my wallet. I enjoyed the light and easy conversation I had with my aunt. I was heartened by, and maybe even proud of, my conscious desire to be out in public once more, practicing and noticing the Okay-ness of it all.

As I was sitting in the car waiting for my aunt, I was watching thoughts as they surfaced in my mind. I was sitting with myself, being there, very aware of my connection to All There Is. I was thinking of ways that I could send this abundant, expansive feeling to someone else. It felt like it was pouring out of me and I wanted to direct it somehow. I thought of the money in my pocket and as I did, I noticed a lady, maybe a few years older than me, getting out of her car across the parking lot. Watching her as she walked toward the store, I felt inspired to give her one of the $20 bills I had. It's hard to describe how I felt when I saw the back of her head. She seemed familiar to me, like she was just who I was looking for, just like we'd had an appointment for right at that time, and that I was supposed to have known it was her by noticing her particular head of hair. Of course, I hesitated. She walked past the cars and out of my view. I sat there for a few moments, but I knew in my gut that I was meant to get out of the car, follow her in to the store, and hand her that money. The impulse was just that strong. I tried to sit there and rationalize my trepidation, but I was like, "Dude, you know how God speaks. You know all about the supremacy of inner guidance. You know that money is just energy and that it's meant to move in all directions. You know that you've nothing to be afraid of. Strangers are strangers on one level, but on another they are all your brothers and sisters. They are YOU. Are you really gonna sit here like a sucker and act like you don't know who you are and what you're all about? THIS is God moving. THIS is why you are alive. So go live! Act as the divine soul that you know you are - and that you know she is. Act like the man you want to be. Go live!...NOW!"

So I did.

I got out of the car, started walking towards the store, and then I noticed that the woman was still standing alone out front, texting or something on her phone. When I saw that she was still standing there, it just reconfirmed for me that she was the One. As I got closer, she started to walk inside and I called from behind her, "Excuse me." She turned around and I held out the money and said something like, "Hi. Would you like this?" At first she looked at me so suspiciously! She said..."Umm...whhhyy?" I just smiled and told her that I thought she might like to have it. She smiled and said, "Don't you need it?" I said, "No, I really wanted you to have it." We both sort of laughed. She could tell that I was sincere and she took it and said, "Thank you." I nodded and smiled and began to walk away. She called out again, more emphatically this time, "Thank you." At that point, though, I just wanted to run back to the car as fast as possible before I had to engage with her - or anyone! - further. I walked slowly, though, and in the direction away from my aunt's car, then darted back in the right direction once I was behind vehicles and knew that I was invisible to her.

I can still see the expression on her face. She seemed genuinely grateful. And touched. And that touched me and made me grateful. This was a special morning for me.

Number one, the Universe spoke to me powerfully and I listened - and beauty followed. That's huge. And I intend to act on my soul's impulses more often, and to even actively seek them out, without waiting willy-nilly for them to just show up. I can feel the difference between inner guidance and simple thoughts. The soul's language is on a totally different level, and I really get that. This experience gave me a wonderful demonstration of the connection that's possible and what happens when I purposely bask in it.

Number two, it gave me a reminder, something to consider the next time I balk at having to interact with people I do not know. There are angels among us. What's an angel? A person that consciously allows God to move through them in the moment. Only blessings can occur in their presence. I'm no saint; I'm vain, selfish, and I do dumb, crappy things sometimes. But I don't think that I'm a bad person. I believe in the goodness of my heart - and I saw today that I am capable of reaching out to someone else. Which just goes to show that if I can, and am willing to, be used, then others must be too. We aren't alone in this; there really is nothing to be afraid of. Only thoughts make the world scary and overwhelming.

I know that it was just standing in a line at the post office. I know that it was only $20 given in some parking lot. I didn't buy someone a house or a car. I didn't cure anyone of any diseases. I didn't climb a mountain. And in the grand scheme of things, this little episode might not mean much. But this is what leads me to believe that it does, that this morning was significant: the present is all we ever have. Our lives are NOW. God/Source Energy/Tao moves through us NOW. Our power, potential, and light are only accessible to us now. And right now, I'm not a millionaire, and I'm not a courageous, ambitious, humanitarian activist guy, or a soldier - but this morning, in those moments, I chose to do what I could do and to give what I could give - from where I am. With a smile no less! And to me, that is all this party's about.

best death

2010-12-21T04:12:00.000-06:00

There is a cool book written by Rob Brezsny that is all about the concept of pronoia - an idea that I adore. Basically, pronoia is the opposite of paranoia. It's the idea or belief that everyone and everything are out to support you, ready to help rather than hinder. His book is called, "PRONOIA IS THE ANTIDOTE FOR PARANOIA: How the Whole World Is Conspiring to Shower You with Blessings." It's filled with all kinds of wild and beautiful ways of honoring and taking note of the world's benevolence.

In each of his newsletters, he offers his readers a short homework assignment, which is always some provocative prompt that asks you to think. For example, in a newsletter from last July, the assignment was: "What's the single thing you could do right now that would change your life for the better?" The subject of this post however, is in response to one of his more recent newsletters. I can't remember exactly which issue it was from, but I wrote down the assignment, knowing that I'd eventually come to it. The homework was: "Meditate on death not as the end of physical life, but as a metaphor for shedding what's outworn. In that light, what's the best death you've ever experienced?"

The answer to that question found me these past few days as I've been going through all of my old photographs. For years, I've had all of my pictures, hundreds of them, thrown all together in a box. But recently, I came upon the idea of uploading all of them to Shutterfly, editing them, and then printing them all in a single book - which I thought would be an easier and nicer way to preserve them.

It's been a fun project and, for the most part, I've loved going back through all of the pictures, revisiting friends and loved ones from the past. But I can't help recalling how crazy I used to act - in my early 20's, and in high school especially. I've got to admit that these recollections sorta sting. I remember how selfish and emotionally needy I was. While I've always been spiritually minded so to speak, and introspective even at a much younger age, there was a time when I was incredibly invested in my relationships with others. Compulsively and neurotically. My sense of identity and self-worth were found in the people I cared about, and in their paying of attention to me. I needed that feeling of love and reciprocity or my sense of well-being was trashed. If someone didn't return a phone call or didn't engage with me in just the way I wanted or expected them to, I took it very personally and often got my feelings hurt. Depending on others to feel "good enough" left me very fragile.

Eventually, though, whether it be through grace or just plain old growing up (I'm pretty sure it's both), I got hip to the fact that my inner experience is my responsibility. I've come to see that nothing - no person or circumstance - outside of myself has the power to deliver me any sort of consistent peace, that it's impossible. But nor can they rob me of it either. It's the perspective I hold and nothing more. And that's a powerful thing to realize. And when I was able to see that, the unstable character I'd been playing finally began to lose its hold on me, lost its luster. So this "death" was a very gradual one. And yes, from time to time, I've resurrected that needy guy in times of lesser presence, but I've seen those behaviors for what they are; I can never truly rely on them again. No longer practiced, they lose their hold - and that's something to be thankful for.

As I look through all of these pictures, editing and organizing them for my books, I see all the people I've known - including myself - and I feel a profound reverence and gratitude for the dance we danced. I love that I went around with my camera taking random shots of these people here and there. I found beautiful smiles, but equally as much, I treasure those awkward instances in time that I captured. With maybe a closed eye, or imperfectly placed strands of hair, the gamut of their facial nuances. Seeing the kinds of clothes we wore, the objects we had around us, all frozen - little snippets of our lives and time together! Even back then as I was grasping at people and moments, I knew that one day they'd not be around - and I guess that's why I did it; I knew that I would lose.

Those "Us's" that we were back then no longer exist. We've all changed and ultimately, have become much, much more. Discovering that "the Kingdom is within" and being born in to these new, lighter perspectives, is the best death I could have hoped for. Knowing what I know, that I didn't know then, is so unspeakably worth it. Yeah, things changed and I lost what I longed for back in the day, but in its place, I gained a sanity that I didn't have, an ability to genuinely love - and everyone is better off for it. I would make that trade, and die that "death" and say those goodbye's again and again and again.

another day of blessings to the brim

2010-11-25T23:40:00.001-06:00

Thanksgiving is such a lovely holiday. Actually, I think the spirit behind most holidays is pretty special. New Year's, Independence Day, Valentine's Day, birthdays. They remind us to take time and celebrate very important things. In this case, Thanksgiving, all of the blessings we have in our lives. But truly, each day is THE day for us to be celebrating our freedom or the existence of people we treasure, honoring our beloved, giving thanks, or allowing for a new beginning. Yes, it's so easy to get caught up in life's minutiae, the frustrations of everyday life. But for me, I've noticed that if I really want a richness to my days, it takes an active contemplation of all the good things - and even the bad, kept in the proper perspective, for it all leads us to Truth. Of course it's easier some days more than others, but I think it makes a big difference.

My Thanksgiving was really nice! I hid in my room and the connecting bathroom while family gathered in the other parts of the house. Oh, but I always love knowing that they're there. I love knowing that they'd laugh and eat and have a good time. And I was content to keep invisible. I corresponded with one of my oldest and best friends from back in the day. I watched a documentary about Mother Teresa, whom I knew almost nothing about - what an awesome lady! And I also watched an amazing documentary about the life of the Buddha. In addition, I worked on a module in my medical coding course, as well as taking my Portuguese lesson (which is something new I've begun that I'll be posting about later).

A really great day.

I give thanks to you, Source/God/Allah, for the innumerable blessings (whether we acknowledge them or not) that you shower upon us every moment of every day.

let us have conscious hearts today

2010-11-25T09:39:00.003-06:00

"We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures." - Thornton Wilder

happenings iv

2010-11-23T13:33:00.001-06:00

i.
Just for the hell of it, my two friends and I decide to lie on the ground in a triangle formation, in the middle of a shopping mall. A group of people come by, telling us that they're on vacation from out of town, and ask to take our picture.

ii.
I befriend a classmate with Down Syndrome and quickly suspect her to be the nicest, most genuine kid in the place.

iii.
Arguing over whether or not to leave the bedroom window open, I regretfully wonder what I was thinking inviting a veritable stranger to live with me.

iv.
One spring morning, at the beginning of a school day, I'm arrested outside my classroom as part of a city-wide drug bust. I quickly realize that the new friend I've had for the last couple of months is actually an undercover cop.

v.
From my room, I cry out to my mother for help, after rolling off the bed in my sleep and getting lodged between my bed and the dresser.

vi.
With her high school reunion approaching, my maternal grandmother shows me pictures of her graduating class. When I'm shown a photograph of her first boyfriend, I stifle the urge to tell her how sexy I think he was.

vii.
After getting my stomach pumped, following an overdose of sleeping pills, one of the nurses scolds me for getting vomit on her uniform, especially with it being so early in the day.

viii.
Lying on my back in the private room of a salon, I listen to the exotic music lightly playing beside my head. I find the sensation of warm wax along my eyebrows and the subsequent tearing away of little stray hairs oddly delightful.

ix.
While eating at The Olive Garden, the waiter makes me feel so welcome and as if my dining needs are the most important thing in the world. I can't help but feel special. I write down his name and take note of his features, telling myself that if I ever win the lottery or am bestowed some grand inheritance, I will return to this restaurant and monetarily shower this man with my gratitude.

x.
If the recorded voice on the other end of the line tells me that they appreciate my patience one more time, I'm certain I'll burst in to a ball of flames.

xi.
Gathered in a circle around a huge parachute, we each grab hold of an edge, and simultaneously thrust it in to the air and over our heads. We sit down inside and watch as the parachute temporarily domes above us all. I look at everyone around the circle and enjoy the haze of red, yellow, and blue.

xii.
My maternal grandmother and I are sitting in line at the bank, when we see a man in a business suit rushing from the office building next door to a nearby parking lot, we assume. She thinks the man must have forgotten an important document in his car. I wager that his wife's water just broke and is on his way to the hospital.

xiii.
My best friend's mother tells me that she knows when her daughter is talking to me on the phone, because no one makes her laugh the way I do. I love it and believe it could be true.

xiv.
Looking from the window during a windstorm, my relatives and I watch as the wind forces the decades-old sycamore tree on my family's land down to the ground. I laugh - but no one else does. The next day, a local news crew comes and interviews my paternal grandmother for having lost the oldest, tallest tree in the county. Once they've gone, my younger cousin and I walk and climb all over it, singing songs.

xv.
I hear a loud belch and immediately turn and see a woman walking past me, who I conclude must have been the source of the sound. A few steps later down the hall, I see a boy sitting against the wall and wonder if I mistook the culprit.

xvi.
Waiting in the shuttle to be driven home from DFW airport, two young native Chinese men climb in with me. After finding out that they are on layover in Dallas for the day, in the US for a year to work at a Louisiana Sonic, I ask if I can hang out with them for the afternoon. We take the light rail downtown and wander around some kind of festival, spending quite a few hours together. The younger one, with the better English skills, asks me all kinds of things about America. And after my vague, ill-informed answers, we both agree that I am probably one of the worst representatives for my country that they could have crossed paths with.

xvii.
I see the Lunesta commercial and am mesmerized by the glow-in-the-dark butterfly, wishing I had my very own.

xviii.
I run down an empty grocery store aisle as fast as I can, pushing my paternal grandmother in a wheelchair.

ix.
At the peak of Haleakala in Hawaii, I'm impressed - but slightly disappointed that at that time, and on that day, the clouds forbade a clearer view.

xx.
Meeting my stepfather's grandfather for the first time, I'm put off by the unfamiliar and unidentifiable smell of his house. When I'm given a glass of suspiciously colored water, I decide once and for all that, no, I don't like this place.

xxi.
In the very young morning, I lie on my bed and listen to my iPod. I sing to the lover I have yet to know.

happy haul-idays from chronicle books

2010-11-21T20:46:00.004-06:00

Chronicle Books is having a super cool holiday contest, giving away $500 worth of books to one lucky blogger and one of their readers. The Official Rules are here. If you're at all interested in winning my list of books, leave me a comment and you and I could each win the list. Good luck to us! And thanks to Autism Mom Rising for the heads-up!

My list, adding up to $499 exactly, in no particular order:

Let's Bring Back by Lesley M. M. Blum

David Choe by David Choe

David Choe (Postcard Book) by David Choe

How to Reduce Your Carbon Footprint by Joanna Yarrow

Penny Saving Household Helper by Rebecca DiLiberto

Brain Boot Camp by Dr. Douglas J. Mason

The Smart Traveler's Passport by Erik Torkes

The Shag Art of Josh Agle (Postcard Book)

A Year in Japan (Postcard Book) by Kate T. Williamson

Hi (Postcards) by Ray Fenwick

Greetings from the Onion by the Editors of the Onion

52 Ways to Celebrate Life by Lynn Gordon

The Moustache Grower's Guide by Lucien Edwards

The Meaning of Flowers by Gretchen Scoble and Ann Field

The Life & Love of Trees by Lewis Blackwell

Swimming with Strangers by Kirsten Sundberg Lunstrum

Ten Eternal Questions by Zoë Sallis

1,001 Pearls of Buddhist Wisdom by Desmond Biddulph

Get High Now *Without Drugs by James Nestor

How Now: 100 Ways to Celebrate the Present Moment by Raphael Cushnir

Marley Legend: An Illustrated Life of Bob Marley by James Henke

Secrets of Longevity: Hundreds of Ways to Live to be 100 by Dr. Maoshing Ni

Hot Shot: Tips and Tricks for Taking Better Pictures by Kevin Meredith

The Marvelous Museum: Orphans, Curiosities & Treasures (A Mark Dion Project) by The Oakland Museum of California

easing up/engine to turn

2010-11-18T05:47:00.000-06:00

I'm reminded by Abraham all the time of the value in having fun and the wisdom in savoring the joy of each experience. I'm reminded to follow my bliss. I'm reminded by all of my teachers to keep present and to live life where life is. And I get that; I see it; I have shining hours where I actually live that wisdom. But there are always these times when I hit sticky patches - the difficulty with the medical coding course, for example, and all of the patterns of thought in general (and there are plenty!) that don't serve me or that are not at all what I want to be about. And when I get to these places, I'm not always as mindful as I could be. I don't rely on my inner knowing. I don't take my troubling thoughts to inquiry. I don't trust in the Universe. I get lost in ego where fear is all that can operate and then I beat myself up for not using all of the psycho-spiritual tools that I've learned through the years.

And I just wonder how many times it's gonna take. How many times will I be seduced by maya? How many times will I react out of fear? I've been thinking about last Saturday's post and how big a deal I can make out of things, where if I'd just get out of my own way, all would reveal itself to be just fine without my fussing.

I've thought about it, though, and realized that it just doesn't matter how many times I lose sight of Truth. I like the proverb that says: "Fall down seven times, stand up eight." It's really that simple. It's doing my best and just easing up. Truth is always right here waiting. My Well-Being, my connection to what is known as God, is assured. I'm gonna screw up sometimes. And sometimes I'm going to believe myself lost. But I've not ever stayed lost. I always see again - and that's our saving grace: that Who We Really Are doesn't hide from Itself forever.

I'll come back to it and back to it for as long as I need to.

I recently found Tift Merritt and have really been liking her tunes. The spirit of this song just lifts me up and seems to tie in.

"Engine to Turn"
by Tift Merritt

I don't know how to fix the world
I don't know how to fix myself
Seems like we both need some love
Seems like we both need some help
Maybe you could fix it with might
Maybe you could just stare it down

Seems like some tenderness
Could turn the whole thing around

I'm just tryin' to get the engine to turn
I'm just tryin' to smile through my tears

And I still got so much to learn
But the best I can is what I got to give
Gonna give it while I'm here

Most days I wanna speed up
Seems like I ought to slow down
Maybe the pieces are here
If I just took a good look around

Maybe the world feels like me
Wishing someone would sing it a song
'Bout how there's a lot of good here
'Bout how it's done nothing wrong

I'm just tryin' to get the engine to turn
I'm just tryin' to smile through my tears

And I still got so much to learn
But the best I can is what I got to give
Gonna give it while I'm here

Sometimes there's a choir in my head
Singing at the top of their voice
Singing at the top of their voice

They sing:
"Don't look back"
"Don't be scared"
"Don't be scared"

I'm just tryin' to get the engine to turn
I'm just tryin' to smile through my tears

And I still got so much to learn
But the best I can is what I got to give
Gonna give it while I'm here

if i'm a dummy, i'm a dummy...if i'm a sage, i'm a sage...

2010-11-13T20:59:00.000-06:00

About a year and a half ago, my aunt and I enrolled in an online medical transcription course together. I worked at it for awhile and then after lots of frustration, I finally gave up. And with other things on her mind, eventually, she quit too. So earlier this year when she brought up the idea of giving medical coding a try, I was reluctant. Over the years, I've attempted medical transcription courses so many times and never had the interest or wherewithal to see them through. I was kind of curious how this would be different - and more importantly, how, and even if, my behavior would be different. My past is littered with numerous abandoned attempts at things. So, earlier this summer when I began taking this coding course, I didn't blog about it or anything because history would suggest that odds are I wouldn't see it through anyway - and then I'd feel like a big dummy...again.

So I signed up and decided not to say anything. For awhile there I was so glad that I didn't mention it to anyone or blog about it, because I did quit. I made my way through a big chunk of the course, and then just stopped. For a couple of months. My aunt, however, has been going steady pretty much this whole time; she's had some breaks, but she's coming right along. Anyway, this week, I decided to get back to it - and it has been challenging. Already I've hit spots and wondered why the hell I'm putting myself through this crap. But my aunt has wonderfully helped put my hesitations and objections in to their proper place, and I am so grateful for her truth-telling encouragement. It has all begun to sink in. Optimism has been restored and I'm back in full swing.

I blog about it now because number one, I'm excited to be doing it again! (I like it so much better than transcription!) And number two, I just can't care about that anymore. I can't control what others will think. I am what I am. A screw-up, a flake, a quitter - they're all just stories and not Who I Really Am, anyway. So I'll live what I live and blog what I am inspired to blog. I can only do my best, after all...just like everyone else. Who could find fault with that?

the intelligent now

2010-11-08T21:02:00.000-06:00

This evening I was reading Breath by Breath: The Liberating Practice of Insight Meditation by Larry Rosenberg. I came across an inconspicuous little sentence that I really thought was profound. He wrote, "Each moment has its own intelligence."

How awesome is that!

That line is found in the middle of a paragraph about sticking to what is right in front of us in the moment, having respect for the task at hand. In this meditation he describes, it's returning to the breath, coming back to it as often as is necessary, no matter how many times the mind wanders off. But I think the idea can be applied to anything and any moment.

Each moment has its own wisdom. It - Life, Presence, Reality - knows what It is doing! That's one of my favorite things to remind myself of! It is unfolding in every moment of every day without our help, without our opinions, and certainly without our permission. It just carries on. And no matter how we resist, or how vehemently we argue with what is actually occurring in every single moment, it cannot and will not change - it's impossible. Not that the so-called future won't be different - of course, it will be - but in the moment, What Is, is.

I find something very beautiful and reassuring about this. It kind of lets us off the hook. We don't have to try and manage everything ourselves. We don't have to have all the answers. It cuts down on the stress when we realize it's not necessary to go poking around in an imaginary future trying to guardedly anticipate some scary unknown. Yes, we can plan; we can do our best to prepare. But It will arrive just as it's supposed to with its own intelligence, revealing to us what is needed in the moment.

It lets us know what's up - not the other way around.

what dreams (and life) are made of

2010-11-07T19:22:00.002-06:00

I recall my dreams easily and often; hardly ever do I have dreams that are negative, so when I do it's intriguing. I woke up from a very vivid, unpleasant dream this morning, in which I was being accused of something that I knew I was innocent of. It was a case of mistaken identity but I wasn't able to convince anyone. Everyone thought they knew who I was and what I had done, and I was terrified that because of it, I was going to be captured and killed, so I went on the run. I woke up in the middle of the dream, so I saw no conclusion - but I thought the symbolism striking!

After waking up, I found myself in bed safe and sound - where just moments before I had been terrified and running for my life. In a few passing moments, all of that running and fear, all of those accusers, all of the places I had hid, and the world and circumstances I'd been entrenched in, disappeared. I was still; I was aware; I was fine. I was aware of the dream, but where was it? Nowhere to be held or touched. And while it doesn't completely, or accurately, describe Reality, I think Awakening or Enlightenment is quite similar to the waking up from a dream - which is why it's called an "awakening" in the first place.

We're able to "wake up" to the Truth of things. We wake up from who we think we are and abide as Who We Really Are. In the moment that the "I" wakes up to the Now-moment and truly inhabits it, dream-like images of past and future are no longer followed or worshiped. Stories of what was and of our identities - in terms of past actions, accomplishments, and memories or potential goals and dreams - are seen to be ghost-like "things" that are not now being. Only the I is Being. Only Awareness is awake. Only Presence is here and now. Not our personalities. Not our stories of past and future. When we wake up from the dream of being a separate self, we come to know our true Self - the pure, unspeakable, I AM awareness.

But sometimes, just as we do in the dream world, we get swept away by the seeming contents of life; we get caught up in the seeming "real world." People believe us to be our names and actions - and quite often we do too; we habitually rely on our memories and mental processes to tell us who we are - but when we wake up, we see that it's just been a case of mistaken identity. We see that the story of our so-called lives had mistakenly been bought in to, which resulted in our seeming separate egos.

All the while, Who We Really Are is present NOW. Asleep or awake, thinking thoughts or seeing images, lost in the drama of a dream or a physical life - midst all of it, the I AM is present. Consciousness itself is Who We Are, and who we are is what "all else" is "made of."

There is naught but "Us."
The I AM.

my sweet november

2010-11-01T13:47:00.000-05:00

I met a boy from New Jersey - a high school boy, actually - several years ago when I was in my early 20s. Online, of course. I thought he was adorable. What I liked about him most of all was how he pretended to be a tough guy when, to me, his sensitivity was so obvious. Now, in a normal "relationship," five years age difference isn't that big of a deal. But throw in the long distance, throw in the pesky notion of statutory rape, and the fact that one's a high school student and the other a lunatic - it's a gnarly combo. And I knew it at the time. I knew it was nothing serious, that nothing would come of it, and that we were just killing time. But that didn't keep me from enjoying getting to know him.

Over time, I've cultivated many relationships online, especially in these last more reclusive years. Some people I've physically met and some I haven't. But each of them have been special to me in one way or another. I always like to say that once someone has made there way in to my heart, that's where they stay. Yeah, it's true that people come and go, and that relationships change or even seem to fade away - and I don't try to stop them. Not anymore. I don't need to. Everyone I have ever loved or ever will love are only just a thought, scent, or song away. Love is an inner joyous state of beingness. It only takes one. No bartering and no reciprocity are needed.

I'm not too sentimental about things; I can do without souvenirs or physical objects. I don't hold on to cards or letters; I don't need mementos. I am, however, terribly sentimental about memories themselves, and the love that brings them about.

The boy from New Jersey was only in my life for a short time, only some months. One of his favorite movies at the time was Sweet November, with Charlize Theron and Keanu Reeves. I'd never seen it, so one night when it was on, he called me and we watched it with each other over the phone - and it was so good! I still like it.

And ever since, I've associated him with both the movie and the month. A few years ago, after not speaking to him for a really long time, it occurred to me that, just for fun, I should let him know. So, I found him on MySpace and sent him a message wishing him a sweet November - and the tradition was born. Now, every year on November 1st, I do it again. I send him a little email just to say "hi."

He never responds and I don't expect him to.
I just like knowing that he knows he's remembered.

It only takes one.

hugs are plenty good

2010-10-31T20:06:00.001-05:00

I wouldn't say that my first ICLW was a bust, but I certainly didn't make it what it could have been either. After signing up for ICLW, I came across, and signed up with, the Mingle - which is another commenting party - that's hosted by Indigo at That's My Answer.

I love the idea behind them. I love that they encourage conversation and that they expose people to new blogs. What I didn't like was the feeling I got when I didn't meet my "quota" each day - it totally turned me off. Several blogs that I found were written by people on topics challenging for me to relate to, and by people that seemed very attached to their particular stories. And there is NOTHING wrong with that! I have plenty of my own that I'm enveloped by! Stories are beautiful! They are the Way of It. But some of these were the kinds of stories that I personally wouldn't want to be telling, identifying with, or reading, that's all; it is just a personal thing. With many of them, I was uninspired to leave a comment that I thought would be worthwhile. And I didn't want to leave a comment just to leave a comment; that seemed kind of phony to me. So instead I simply left far fewer comments than was suggested we leave.

Maybe I was just lazy about it. The truth is: I think if we try hard enough, we can always find something in common with someone else, despite our different stories and circumstances - because we're human, and because we all experience the same kinds of emotions, regardless of what stirs them up. I also had in my mind that I had to provide something witty and insightful to every single blog that I read. (Yes, I loftily imagined that I might be one of those "Iron Commentors" - lol!) But it doesn't have to be so hard. What I loved about the ICLW in the first place is that it promotes comments as the "new hug." And a hug is a sweet, simple exchange. If I do this again, I'm going to remember next time that I don't have to be brilliant - as if I could pass for something like that anyway! Just stopping by to say "hello" is a really nice thing! I enjoyed it when people came to my blog. So why do I imagine that they would expect - or even want - something other than that from me? I won't let this stop me next time. A simple "hug" is plenty good enough for me. Why would I think it wouldn't be for someone else?

Reminder to self: Over-thinking is not helpful and a waste of energy!

I did find a couple of blogs that I plan on reading regularly, and that's cool, so I'm glad about that. Despite these simple misgivings, I really am glad I participated. Maybe I'll enjoy it more next time if I lighten up and am more patient. I'll also need to redefine what I think of as a "worthwhile" comment to be giving to my fellow bloggers, for I know it's a much broader scope.

to say it gently

2010-10-23T16:35:00.001-05:00

Very recently, someone that I love asked me what I thought of the new shirt they had just bought and were wearing. While I didn't think it looked terrible, I honestly didn't think it looked very good either; it wasn't very flattering, too tight in spots. I personally wouldn't have worn it if it had fit that way on me.

However, I'll be the first to admit that one of the great karmic crosses of my lifetime has been my hypersensitivity to how (I think) others perceive me and the often hateful, unhealthy relationship I have with my body. Clearly, I project my own concerns on to others when dealing with these kinds of things. So, when I told this person what I thought, I made sure to include that fact.

The enthusiasm rushed from their countenance, they went to the bathroom mirror to reassess their reflection, and they ended up changing shirts. I obviously dashed their good feelings, and I feel awful about that. They reassured me that they were fine and that they had asked for my opinion, but still I feel sorry.

For the longest time, I've believed that it's best to tell the truth. Even when it's not pretty or it's potentially hurtful to hear. Of course, I don't go around saying every little negative thing that occurs to me for the sake of "truth-telling." But if someone genuinely wants to know my opinion, I've believed that honesty is the way to go. It lets people know what they're working with. It gives them more pieces of the puzzle with which to respond. I think it's all about how it's expressed. There's no need to be cruel; whatever needs to be said can always be said kindly.

At first this little episode made me reconsider what I might should do if this kind of situation ever happens again. Should I just go with what's polite and spare someone's feelings? Or should I continue gently telling what's true for me, on the occasions that I'm asked? (And if you knew how I dressed, you'd be startled that I was even asked about someone else's fashion at all!)

This reminds me of why I think it's so important that we each find our own inner alignment. I think we would all be so much better off if we could reach for that state of being in which other people's opinions of us are irrelevant. I imagine it happens a lot; I know it did with me. We have an idea (or piece of clothing!) that we think is brilliant and that we're so excited by, only to foolishly ask someone else for their two-cents and end up having our not-yet-fully-formed dreams ripped to shreds. I used to ask for people's opinions all the time before I attempted something new, until I finally discovered that whatever is important to me really ought to be sheltered in my heart awhile before I bring it out in to the world, where it can be subjected to all kinds of opposing forces. Often I just wasn't ready or committed enough to defend it when it met with that opposition before I started opening my big mouth about things. If we're seeking advice and we truly value what someone may contribute to our ideas, then I think asking is appropriate. It's great and we could gain a lot from it. But if we're just wanting someone to agree with us, and to tell us what we want to hear so that we can have a temporary feeling of validation, then I think we're looking for trouble. Because, as vexing as it is, people do have their own ideas about things! And we can never know what they'll say. I just think that before we go asking other people's thoughts, we need to be 100% clear that we're committed - and in exuberant love with our own vision first - and to be certain that we're emotionally willing to hear anything.

I think I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing. Ultimately, I'm not responsible for someone else's emotional reactions to what I say. My job is to be as honest and kind as I can be, because that feels right. And if what I say comes from a place of love, and it happens to be something that hurts someone's feelings, I think that eventually, that love will be what's most apparent. If someone asks for a truth, and I fail to share it because I fear their reaction, whose interest am I really concerned with?

a sophisticated chocolate sensory experience

2010-10-23T00:09:00.001-05:00

I studied the package, thinking, "I love dark chocolate. This is going to be so good!" I skimmed the fancy wrapper, reading words like "deep ebony color" and "alluring aroma" - which, yes, it did have. I opened it up, broke off a sizable piece and held it to my nose, inhaling said aroma.

I've heard for quite awhile now just how good dark chocolate can be for our health. It benefits us by lowering blood pressure and cholesterol, as well as releasing endorphins and serotonin. As long as it's not packed with sugar, and it's made with plenty of cocoa, it's not a bad thing to snack on, in moderation. I've always liked dark chocolate, so cool for me.

Being reminded of the health benefits of dark chocolate, and wanting a new, healthier kind of treat, my aunt bought a few different varieties of it for us to try.

Words such as "smooth" and "rich" were employed, and it was labeled a "supreme creation." How could I go wrong?

Yes, there wasn't much sugar in it and the label clearly said it was 90% cocoa. And yes, my aunt had already tried it and said that it was nasty, but I thought that compared to milk chocolate or maybe even cheaper brands of dark chocolate (all of which I favor), of course it wouldn't taste quite as good; I figured it was just an exaggeration - but it wasn't.

I bit in to the square of chocolate, tasting the familiar cocoa taste. I moved it around in my mouth, expecting some kind of sweetness to reveal itself along with the bitterness, but it failed to come - at least not in the few swishes of my tongue that I could stand to hold it in my mouth.

I'll have to encourage lower blood pressure and all of that mess some other kind of way.

I spit that little, mean-spirited piece of darkness in to a napkin and threw it in the trash.

mostly yellow, with an occasional stretch of blue

2010-10-20T15:03:00.003-05:00

Though I sequester myself, I do not do it blindly. I'm keenly aware of the limit I place on my possibilities of experience - and what an incredibly high price that is to pay. But I'll continue to spend time in hiding until I can no longer afford it, until it's no longer right. When my time is up, I'll know it. I'm not even 30. Surely, I'll not be in hiding at 50. It would be a very curious dharma.

In "isolation," which is too cold a word for what I live, carrying on relationships can be challenging. Tricky, but not impossible; different, but not unfulfilling.

With an imagination, books, music, blogs, plants, close family, and friends of all kinds, I often don't experience loneliness at all. But when I do, I feel it. I found myself tramping through a stretch of blue yesterday after emailing my best friend from high school. Today is his 30th birthday, and I wanted to send him something, so I texted him to make sure that I still had his correct address (which gives you an idea of how close we are these days). He didn't answer me very promptly, so I emailed him just to make sure he got it, because the last time I texted him, I didn't hear anything back. As it turned out, he emailed later; he was just busy at work - and I totally understand that. It's a small thing, I know - but when the only way you stay connected to your friends is through text messages, emails, or letters, and correspondence doesn't come, it can leave you a little lonely. Assuming you're foolish enough to wait for it.

I have but a precious few friends left from long ago. And we hardly ever communicate. I've been reached out to, but I'm not willing to move from my terms, and they too, stay committed to theirs. There is no ill will; we have nothing but love for each other, but Life goes on and friendships have to change. The distance is my doing; I own that. My stubborn solitude was the slipping of fingers; my familiar friendships, balloons that floated away.

My other friends whom I've never physically met are people I've come to know online or through other people. These, I have to say, are the least anxiety-provoking. They don't know me like the others do. They've always known me as this disembodied Idea, living "somewhere out there." I feel no loss for words, no urgent need to explain to them what's become of me. In his reply email yesterday, my friend asked me what I have been up to and what's been going on. With the distance there, what can I say to him? He's one of the Souls I carry with me every day and yet here in this email, what can I say? What would it sound like in a world like his, to an ear like that? I gave a non-answer. And not surprisingly, it was enough.

And that's what made me kind of sad: that such difference between my friends and I could suffice. But Benevolence presides and I see that it's perfectly so. It was just a temporary stretch of blue, what I felt. Because I know that this is just our temporary way of relating to each other. Because I know that only I am keeping things this way and that if I really wanted to try and make them different, I could.

In the meantime, as Reality is what it is, my saving grace comes with the fact that knowing another person's heart does not entail a face to face. My life is a rich one, because I've come to see how to approach the mind. I've come to see what Love is about. It comes with knowing our true nature - that Who We Really Are is what our little selves appear in, transcending thoughts of time or space - impossible to be parted.

it gets better

2010-10-18T19:28:00.001-05:00

I was listening to Cheryl Richardson's show this afternoon on Hay House Radio, and she mentioned a video she'd come upon last night that had really moved her. She said, and I adamantly agree, that it's a message all people should hear - adults and children, both. Especially the children, I think.

Fort Worth councilman Joel Burns speaks to the bullying and name-calling that young people who are gay, or simply perceived as different, often endure. And the seeming rise in gay youth committing suicide as of late is troubling and so insanely unnecessary. It's so sad that children - or anyone, for that matter - would reach the point where they feel so alone or broken. And as a gay man who was once a suicidal gay and bullied child, I know that pain. I was brought to tears listening to this man speak, because it's a message that I could have used back then.

I pray that this message is found by those children who need it now.

joining the comment orgy

2010-10-14T20:38:00.000-05:00

Mel, aka Lollipop Goldstein, over at Stirrup Queens came up with the cool idea of International Comment Leaving week. IComLeavWe - Clever, right?

From her website: "Blogging is a conversation and comments should be honoured and encouraged. I like to say that comments are the new hug–a way of saying hello, giving comfort, leaving congratulations."

I think that's so right on. It's a "little" way of reaching out to a fellow human, letting them know that they're being heard. I don't blog for the comments, necessarily, but I do love them; they are wonderful to receive. It's an amazing feeling when someone lets me know that something I've written or something from my own life has brought them even a speck of amusement or knowing or discernment. I'm grateful - and astonished! - every single time. So, if we can help pass this feeling along to others, I say "let's do it!"

I love how she likens a blog comment to a hug! It does feel like that! So in order to spread the love, she came up with International Comment Leaving Week, which is from the 21st of each month to the 28th. On the first of each month, bloggers and/or readers submit their name and site to the list, and then starting on the 21st, each one listed is encouraged to check out the blogs on the list and leave at least five comments and one reply comment each day.

Autism Mom Rising wrote about this last week, which is how I heard about it. I've never done it before, so I'm looking forward to it. As of right now, there are 123 blogs on the list, so there should be plenty of new people and experiences to read about. It should be cool! Here's the link if you want to read more about it and join in: http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2008/06/icomleavwe/.

randomness and versatility

2010-10-02T14:50:00.001-05:00

I have been thoughtfully presented with the "Versatile Blogger Award" from the author of one of my newfound pleasures to read, Autism Mom Rising. While I'm not entirely convinced I deserve this award, I definitely appreciate the love with which it was given. Tradition would have me pass the award on to seven other bloggers I feel are deserving of it, as well as sharing seven facts about myself.

I've already passed awards on in the past couple of months. So instead, I will break with tradition, and just direct everyone to my list of favorites in the sidebar and assure you that all of the sites, teachers, and fellow bloggers that I have listed there are awesome and worthy of exploration. I really get something worthwhile from each of them.

Thank you, Autism Mom Rising! It's been fun - and enlightening - getting to know you and Alex from your blog, hearing about your experiences.

Seven Random (and probably not too interesting) Things About Me

1. I prefer woven floss to waxed - and if it's minty, all the better!

2. I'm an HGTV junkie. Before/after pictures are so satisfying to me.

3. My iPod inscription: "my wars and triumphs are laid away in you"

4. My keyboard is wireless.

5. I love the Crystal Lite.

6. I once had a pair of yellow Converse.

7. I enjoy sending and receiving handwritten letters and postcards.

friday nights in fall

2010-10-02T00:04:00.002-05:00

Friday nights are sweetly anticipated portals to the weekend, and as such, always have that liberating air about them - regardless of the time of year it is. But for me, the cool, crispness of autumn, added to Friday night's already genial nature, has always put this version of the beloved portal slightly above those belonging to the other seasons.

For awhile there, in high school, my buddy and I had a Friday night ritual: after school we would walk over to his house, and then with the evening, we'd hit the town in his parent's car. I can still remember the feeling of freedom I had those nights as we headed downtown, listening to the Lone Star Dead show with the windows down. It's when my love for the Grateful Dead first came to be. We'd head to Half Price Books first, and then to Dan's Lakewood Cafe - a small, decades-old, smoke-filled cafe where we'd eat and hang out for the rest of the night with a small building-ful of our cigarette-smoking, pierced, tattooed, dyed-hair brethren. It was a cool place; I liked it. But I always left with the vague sense I was lucky to have left the place unharmed.

My early 20's had my Friday nights spent different ways. Sometimes I'd ride home with my friend from work and we'd go out to eat and a movie; sometimes I'd crash at her place, which was always fun. Other times I'd just go home and open all the windows, turn on some music, and I'd paint or write. Or I'd go to my friend's place and hang out with him and his roommate, drinking and talking.

In these past few years of my self-induced "displacement," I've often liked to go out walking late at night during this time of year. I walked almost every night, but Friday nights were always special. There was more traffic about. And more cars parked in front of houses. People out seeing friends. People out having fun. I'd crunch the leaves along the sidewalks as I went, peering in windows as I passed. The fun is always palpable. It's a tradition I'm thinking I should re-establish...

Earlier this evening, I was sitting in the quiet of the kitchen and I could hear the band playing up at the high school football game - that's another thing! I don't give a crap about football - or any kind of sports, really - but I like knowing that they're there for the people who do. I like knowing that there are crowds of people out there at different football games, cheering and excited. I like knowing that people tune in to the radio to hear the plays, they're that interested. I like knowing that people are gathered together, bundled in coats and long pants, drinking hot cocoas and other warm beverages, rooting for their teams under those bright lights.

Friday nights aren't exactly the same for me as they were once. I don't have a job that I come home from to relax at the end of the week. But I still feel it.

The fall's night air comes in through my window and Jerry Garcia's spirit flows out, upward to the moon. And my atmosphere - inner and outer - is unspeakably good.

in retrospect: translucence

2010-10-01T00:06:00.000-05:00

"On the Sussex Downs"

It was not you, though you were near,
Though you were good to hear and see,
It was not earth, it was not heaven
It was myself that sang in me.

- Sara Teasdale

me is hopeless

2010-09-28T23:58:00.243-05:00

The egoic body-mind that I take myself to be will never...

...find a lasting, unwavering sense of connection.
The body-mind's nature is divisive. It seeks to compare and make different. It isolates, contracts, and defines. As long as there is an ego believed to be in operation, its sense of separation - and traces of loneliness - will persist.

...accomplish all of its dreams and live "happily ever after."

The body-mind seeks to perpetuate itself. It looks for projects, ways to keep busy, ways to improve upon the reality of what is. It is terrified to sit still in contentment, to abide in the present. It knows that in the Now, it cannot survive. Without anything to "fix" or chase after, it's out of a job. Finding reasons to be unhappy, and the need for new goals or improvements keep it intact.

...truly, unconditionally love.
As Byron Katie says, "Personalities don't love - they want something." The personality, or body-mind in other words, is designed to be self-serving. It's designed to maintain a solitary - yet illusory - position of power. The total embracing and acceptance of others - or of reality, for that matter - is beyond its capability. Yes, the personality is capable of greatness. Of compassion. Of generosity. Of service. But these are gifts of Grace...not the ego. Love is all-consuming. It envelops light and dark and holds them as One - something the egoic self cannot do. It is not able to see past its concepts; its views of life are tainted, limited by its perceptions of duality and separation.

...be loved or understood for who it imagines itself to be.
Whether it's despised or worshiped, it's the other body-mind that is telling its own stories with its own mental concepts - and none of it has to do with the truth of what this personality actually is. Being understood or cared for is an inside job. Only the mind can know and appreciate itself.

...never reach a state of unending peace or enlightenment.
Enlightenment Is. It's not something that the body-mind can do or achieve. Seeking enlightenment is just another one of the ego's strategies (perhaps its most cunning of all) to prolong its reign. As long as the body-mind believes in its own existence, it will do whatever it can to sustain maya - while at the same time, genuinely believing it's on the search for peace. Although it looks for it, hopes for it, prays for it - peace would be the ego's undoing, and is therefore nothing it will ever have.

This egoic body-mind that I take myself to be, that I am so terribly invested in, that I desperately glorify whether I want to admit it or not - is a mirage leading nowhere; its tricks, seen through. Identified as this personality, I know it won't last. I know that all of my clever, animated maneuvers are ultimately in vain. I know that this "me" I pretend I am, is nothing but a dream. I know this. And still...strangely, yet rightly so...I do not wake.

some pseudo-haiku v

2010-09-27T21:22:00.000-05:00

i.
Tornado fan blows -
the whirring roar sublimates
man asleep on floor

ii.
Your stories and your
profession tell us nothing -
Won't you BE instead?

iii.
Hob-blob of nothing -
Only this will you find here -
Read with hunger!

iv.
Mother Earth's countless
brown fingers, green, leafy tips
love to wave "hello"

v.
Your tongue, your soft lips -
these speak to me your love in
ways your words cannot

vi.
The colors! The sounds!
Why do we not spend more time
Worshiping outdoors?

vii.
Too personally?
Yes, that's just how I take it -
with a drip of honey

viii.
Bliss recovery -
the world joins in and time
becomes a joke

ix.
Escaping the Tao -
Erecting one's own kingdom -
A pure fool's errand